


Dreaming of Your Ghost

by 64_words, Schattenecho



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Berlermo, Berlin is alive, Drugs, Eventual Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Drugs, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Torture, fluff/angst, homosexuality (duh), martin is prisoner, not super graphic torture btw, rio is fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 46,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24854941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64_words/pseuds/64_words, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenecho/pseuds/Schattenecho
Summary: “To Palermo” Nairobi’s voice rose above that of the crashing waves, “for giving up all he had, to make sure we kept ours.” She sent a small, secretive smile Berlin’s way, and, to his own surprise, he felt a little happier than before.Also known as the one where Martin is being tortured and Andres dreams about him.before you read this, i need you to understand that this fic includes heavy themes, such as that of torture, rape and forced drug intake.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez & Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 199
Kudos: 356





	1. Almost Worried

**PALERMO**

Palermo could only whimper as they shocked him again. He’d lost count of the days he’d been here, burned, stabbed, threatened. The police had pulled out every trick in the book, lawful or not, trying to get Martin to open up. He wouldn’t, and he was almost worried they’d give up. Almost. He laughed out loud when they shocked him again, a distorted, pained rasp.  
He was past pain.  
He was past suffering.  
All he could do now, was give the team as much time as he could. He closed his eyes, imagining Andres standing with him, back before there was any pain, and he laughed harder. Screw the team, he was doing it for Andres.

It had always been Andres.


	2. To Palermo

**BERLIN**

Berlin did not enjoy his time on the boat. All his thoughts were preoccupied with Palermo, his Martin, the one that had just died to save all their sorry asses. He blamed himself, completely. He had tried to hold the police off, standing outside the tunnel, when Martin had screamed at him to get in, that there was still time. Of course, Berlin had believed him. Palermo, Martin, would never lie to him. After all, they had been planning their future, together.  
They were going to live together, in Palermo, as Martin had insisted, despite the Professor’s warnings. He felt tears slide down his cheeks as he remembered his last look at his soulmate, eyes wet with unshed tears, Martin had whispered one last “I love you”, before he had pushed him all the way into the hole. Berlin hadn’t understood what was happening, not then.

Not until Helsinki had blown the tunnel. He had shouted at him, at the Professor. “Palermo’s still inside!” he had shouted, anger like no other had burned through him, blinding him, consuming him. It had faded as Sergio handed him the radio, blasting with noise of gunfire, Palermo’s voice breaking through.  
“Professor. Sergio. Tell Andres I’m sorry” then the radio had clattered, as if whoever was holding it had dropped it, and Berlin’s anger was gone. It was replaced with sadness, grief. He felt as though the giant arm of the universe had held his heart, torn it right out of him, and left a gaping hole in him.  
He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t allow himself to.

Martin was waiting for him on the boat, he told himself, as he allowed the Professor to carry on with the plan, everyone splitting up to meet at the boat. Now that he was here, in the boat, he had to bring himself to acknowledge Martin’s absence, his death.

“He’s gone” he said to himself out loud. He said it over and over again, each time his sobs becoming heavier and heavier, until he could barely breath. He didn’t care about any of these people, save for Sergio, as much as he cared for Martin. None of them were worth what he had just lost. All the money in the world could be his and that hole in his chest still wouldn’t be filled. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him, but all he saw was Martin’s smile, hearing his laugh, feeling his eyes bore into his.

“Berlin?” his eyes snapped open, and he brought his hands to his face, wiping away the tears that were still fresh on his cheeks.

“What?” he tried to sound cold or aloof, as though this person hadn’t just caught him crying, instead, he sounded broken, lost.

“You alright?” He looked up, almost surprised to see Nairobi, concerned, standing in the doorway, champagne bottle in hand.

“I’m fine, what do you want?”

“You weren’t upstairs, drinking, or telling off Denver, so clearly, something’s wrong.”

“I’m not going upstairs.” Nairobi walked over to him, inviting herself to sit on the edge of the bed, near where he himself was sat.

“Palermo?” Nairobi guessed. Berlin felt his breath catch in his throat. Merely mentioning him was enough to render him speechless. He nodded, closing his eyes and feeling another tear slide down one cheek. Nairobi sighed. “I guess you two weren’t jut friends after all?” Berlin shook his head, almost smiling at the memories that rushed to his mind, of all the secret glances he and Martin had shared, the meaningful messages they had hidden behind normal speech, ‘accidentally’ running into each other while on patrol.

“We were so much more” he muttered. “for 10 years, we were best friends, inseparable” he cleared his throat, looking past Nairobi, because he wasn’t really talking to her at all, “until one night I kissed him, and he kissed back” he sunk, dropping his gaze, “and now he’s gone.” As more tears streaked down his face, Berlin suddenly felt to arms around him, squeezing tight.

“I’m sorry Berlin, all this time I thought you were a monster with no feelings, but really, you had the most.” Berlin relaxed, slightly, in her embrace, and put his dropped his head on to her shoulder. He pulled back after a few minutes.

“H-How well did you know him?” Berlin asked, swallowing back tears.

“Palermo?” Nairobi looked at Berlin, who had closed his eyes, and was leaning back against the wall. He nodded. “Not nearly enough. He seemed like fun, we talked sometimes. And he was very… opinionated when it came to some things”, Berlin snorted, a small smile gracing his features. Nairobi continued, “He was funny as well, witty and bubbly in everything he did, his smile was contagious”, she paused, thinking before she continued, “and he seemed whole, fulfilled, like he had exactly what he wanted in the world.” She looked at Berlin again, who had opened his eyes and was looking at her, sadness making him seem so vulnerable.

“You’re right, he always told me - even before we were together -, he always found a way to tell me that I was everything to him. His eyes would sparkle in the most beautiful of ways whenever he was laughing. When we laughed together, or sometimes just when we were talking, he would give me the biggest, toothiest grin, like a little schoolboy, and touch the tip of his tongue to his chipped tooth.” Berlin paused, smiling as memories continued flowing, and “he refused to put in a crown." Berlin paused, "He was proud of that chipped tooth; he had broken it in a fight with some racist homophobe, defending not only himself, but me as well. He had been fixing my tie, and while I ignored the drunken bastard tossing insults like they were nothing, Palermo called him out. Told him that he would meet him outside to see if his balls were as big as he was saying they were. The man had two other men with him, and Mar-“ Berlin paused and took a deep breath, “Palermo walked out of the fight with a busted lip and a chipped tooth, while two men were left unconscious, with the one who he had been talking unable to stand. Palermo had broken his kneecaps, but left him conscious, so that he would remember exactly what happened.” Nairobi chuckled.

“That crazy son of a b*tch” Berlin let out a breathless laugh.

“He wouldn’t even go home afterwards, just went back to the bar and continued like nothing happened” Berlin recalled. Denver’s laugh echoed through the thin walls. Nairobi rolled her eyes.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to go upstairs? I think a little wine might help.” Although Berlin disagreed, he let Nairobi lead him upstairs. He poured himself a glass of wine and scowled at Denver, who patted him on the back, too drunk to notice his mood.

“TO BERLIN!” he yelled, “FOR GETTING US OUT ALIVE!” the team all raised their glasses, and Berlin smiled at them, although he knew that it wasn’t his fault they were all alive, but Palermo’s.

“To Palermo” Nairobi’s voice rose above that of the crashing waves, “for giving up all he had, to make sure we kept ours.” She sent a small, secretive smile Berlin’s way, and, to his own surprise, he felt a little happier than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright!
> 
> An actual chapter! alright, so I think this fic is going to be full of short and long chapters, just depends on how I'm writing it, I'm sorry for the next chapter...


	3. Just a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!WARNING!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS GOING TO HAVE SCENES INVOLVING TORTURE, PLEASE, CONSIDER YOUR MENTAL HEALTH
> 
> ... its not really graphic, but YOU KNOW YOURSELF BEST!!!!!

**PALERMO**

Palermo spat his blood out.

"I’ll ask you again, where is the Professor?” the pregnant woman leaned in, a psychotic smile and maniacal glint in her eyes. “Where are they going?” she hissed, eyes narrowed. Palermo laughed, a crazed, deranged sound.

“you’ll have to do a lot worse than that, you stone-cold wh*re” he hissed in pain when one of the guards pushed the blade further in.

“Fine” she nodded at the guards, “take him back to his… room. No food or water for the next 2 days. You can do whatever you want to him meanwhile.” She left the room, leaving the two guards smirking evilly at him.

“So, I heard from some people that you’re a f*g. is it true? Are you a little feminine f**got?” the first guard taunted. Palermo grinned at him, refusing to show the fear that ran through him at the man’s words.

“Most of it. I would have thought that you could tell I'm not very feminine. Clearly, you couldn’t, and I can’t help but feel as though I should be surprised, that it took you so long to figure out. But honestly, it doesn’t in the least that you had to wait for someone to tell you, you dim-witted broke-ass f*cker” Palermo spat, swinging his head up to smirk at the guard.

“You’re going to regret that” Palermo felt a hand gripping his shoulder, and he didn’t need to look to know that the second guard was right next to him, probably mirroring the first guard’s evil smirk.  
  


*******

**BERLIN**

It had been almost a year since the first heist, and Andres thought he was starting to accept the fact that Martin was dead. That was until he woke up, drenched in sweat in the middle of the night. He had dreamed that Martin was alive, being tortured in some terrible place. He shuddered again as he heard his soulmate hissing through the darkness.

“I’ll never tell you anything” and then a second voice, a female one.

“that’s too bad, I guess we’ll just keep you here for fun then.” Then the rest of the dream was Martin’s crazed laughter, shadows and silhouettes showing him tied to a chair, being punched and kicked, until even that was cut short. Then, the same voice had cut through again, “he’s out, take him back to his cage” he saw one shadow disappear, and the shadow that was Martin slumped to the floor. He started when Sergio burst into his room.

“Andres?” Sergio was standing in the door way, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “are you alright? Raquel and I could hear you screaming from our room.”

“I’m sorry for waking you, _hermanito_ , I’m fine, I just had a bad dream” Andres grimaced slightly, pushing away Martin's laughter. Sergio nodded.

“I’ll get you a glass of milk, and then you can tell me about it” Andres nodded, he recalled how much Martin had loved milk. Whenever he was about to go to sleep, he would always drink a warm cup of milk, and at breakfast, a cold one. Andres had no doubt in his mind that Martin had the strongest bones out of anyone he’d ever met. Hearing Sergio coming back, he wiped the tears out of his eyes, not wanting Sergio to know much the mention of a glass of milk affected him.

“Andres, you’re as pale as a sheet, are you sure you’re alright?” Sergio asked him, lighting a candle, “tell me, what’s bothering you so much?”

“I-I just had a nightmare” Andres said, trying his hardest to forget it, but Martin’s agonized screams and deranged laughter just kept replaying in his mind.

“Tell me, I have time”, Sergio smiled at his brother, curiosity banishing any hint of sleep form his gaze. Andres took a deep breath.

“I dreamed that Martin was still alive, that they were torturing him. He was laughing, throwing insults at them, cut short with his own screams…” Sergio adjusted his glasses, pulling his big brother in for a hug.

“It’s alright, it was just a dream”, he muttered. Andres pulled away.

“It didn’t feel like one. It was too real. Even his voice, he was saying things that I’d never heard him say before, so it couldn’t have been a memory, and everything he was doing, the way he was laughing, with a sort of crazed determination behind it, the screams that sounded far too tired of themselves, everything. It was just… so real” Andres shuddered again, the noises replaying over and over in his head. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “what if it is? What if somehow, someway, Martin is still alive?” Andres looked to Sergio, willing him to understand.

“Andres. Please, _hermano_ , don’t do this to yourself. We know Martin is dead, remember when we saw the body bag they dragged out?” Sergio reminded his brother gently, hoping that Andres saw the truth in his words. He would never move on if he didn’t accept that Martin was gone. Andres nodded and sniffed.

“I’m sorry I woke you, goodnight _hermanito_.”

“Goodnight Andres”  
  


*******

**PALERMO**

“Get away from me” Palermo protested weakly.

“Beg for it” said the first guard, “go on, beg” Palermo shook his head weakly, before he doubled, having been punched in the stomach by the second guard. Hugo and Pablo, as he called them. They refused to give him their names, for obvious reasons, so he gave them some of his own. He wasn’t sure where the names came from, but they worked well enough.  
He was hanging by his arms from the low ceiling, feet not quite touching the ground. He was dressed in a beige shirt, with hideous grey pants, both of which stained with all kinds of unrecognizable things. He pictured Andres in his mind.

“I’d rather die” he jutted his chin out defiantly, before feeling his world go dark with a stinging pain to the back of his head.

“You sure?” he heard one voice say as he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3!
> 
> alright, so those torture scenes really set the bar for the graphic-ness of the violence (as far as i've written, at least), but if 
> 
> thoughts? comments? i've already written the first part of the fic, but if you guys have any way you want me to steer the story, it'd be nice to know.
> 
> thank you to everyone reading my attempt at writing, i honestly haven't written for myself since grade school, so I'm still getting the hang of it.
> 
> :)))


	4. Bella Ciao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!!
> 
> ITS GOING TO GET DARK AGAIN PLEASE BE CAREFUL AHHHH

**THE PROFESSOR**

Sergio was worried for Andres.

Every night, he would wake up to his screams, and every night, he would do everything he could to soothe him. Sergio suspected that a small part of Andres believed that Martin really was alive, being tortured somewhere. Every night, Andres’ dreams changed, never repeating themselves, but always being about the same thing; Martin being tortured in as many brutal ways that one could think of.  
One night, Andres had dreamt Martin was being shocked, another, stabbed, and one night, the one where Andres hadn’t been able to fall asleep after, Martin had been raped.

Every time Sergio talked to Andres, he would recount his dream with chilling detail, and that - as Sergio learned through reading any book he could find about dreams - was very strange. In desperation, Sergio had even turned to unscientific books. Ones that talked about the power of 'soulmates', and how in cases of mortal peril, one may dream of the other, sending a sort of message. Andres and Martin had often referred to themselves as soulmates, and although Sergio didn’t believe any of it, even he would admit there were some chillingly accurate connections that even coincidence wouldn’t explain.

*******

**PALERMO**

“ _o bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao, e se io muoio da partigano, o bella ciao bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao_ ” Palermo whispered to himself, in his ‘cell’, which was little more than a hole in the wall. He knew that nobody could hear him, because if they had they would’ve known he was awake. “ _e se io muoio, da partigano, tu mi devi seppellir, e seppellire lassu in montagna, o bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao_ ” a coughing fit racked through Palermo, causing him to cough up the blood that found its way into his lungs.  
Almost instantly, Palermo heard the ‘click, click, click’ of the lady’s high heels against the floor. As his door was swung open and he was pulled out, he grinned at the woman.

“Miss me already?”  
As soon as he was out of his cell, Hugo and Pablo grabbed him by the arms, pulling him into the water boarding room. He sighed dramatically, “really? Por favor, have some originality. If you’re going to break the law by torturing me, might as well make it interesting.” once he finished talking Hugo dislocated one of his fingers. Palermo clenched his jaw in pain, trying as hard as he could not to cry out.

“Original enough for you?” the guard Palermo had taken to calling Hugo spat.

“I’ll give you an A for effort”, he replied, eyes still squeezed shut. The guards threw him onto the board, each one tying one arm and one leg down.

Palermo had stopped resisting this a long time ago. Or maybe it had only been a few days. They didn’t follow by days here, only when Palermo was awake and when he wasn’t. They threw the first bucket over him. The water flow felt like it would never end. And then it did. Then they did it again, and again, and again. Palermo lost count of how many times they did it before they let him catch his breathe. The moment he did, he continued singing as before. “ _e seppillire, lassu in montagna, sotto l’ombra di un bel fior_ ”  
“What is it with him and singing songs?” said one guard, the rough edge of the voice told Palermo that Hugo was talking.  
“It’s a partisan song” he heard Pablo explain, casually, as he began drowning Palermo again, “sung in WWII by Italian youths who didn’t want to enlist for the NAZI army. Quite admirable, really, that he wastes his breath on such things. Gay drama queen”, he added, almost affectionately.

Of the two, Palermo liked Pablo more. Not by a lot, but Hugo was the one who did the worst things to him, Pablo just hit him a lot.

Palermo felt the water lift.  
“ _Tutte le genti_ ” he stopped as the water flowed again. When it stopped, he continued, “ _che passerano_ ” another bucket load, another pause, “ _O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao_ ” throwing up water, he breathed again “ _E le genti… che passerano, mi diranno che bel fior_ ” the bucket that followed went on the longest, and Palermo felt his vision begin to darken.  
He was way past the point of caring however, so he continued, “ _E quest’e il fiore del partigano_ ’’ the water flowed, but Palermo sung through it anyway, “ _O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao, Quest’e il fiore, del partigano-_ “. This time he had to stop, to catch his breath, but only enough to continue the song. “ _Morto per la liberta!_ ” when the water lifted, he pulled in one last shaky breath, “ _MORTO PER LA LIBERTAAAAA!_ ” Although it wasn’t as loud as he would’ve liked, it was loud enough that Hugo had felt the need to muffle him with a towel. When it was lifted, Palermo embraced the rushing water with a grin, knowing that he only had two options, the first, he would wake up in his ‘cell’ in a few hours, and the second? That he wouldn’t wake up at all.  
Both would work fine by him.

*******

**BERLIN**  
Andres awoke once more, waking the moment Martin closed his eyes.  
There were two guards that were always with him, and this time they were waterboarding Martin. Andres exhaled slowly.  
Martin was fighting back. He always did, but today, it was outright defiance. He was singing Bella Ciao, not in the confines of his cell, but openly, loudly, in front of his captors.  
It was hard for Andres to remind himself that these were just dreams, when they happened every night, and they were so goddamn accurate! Everything, from Martin’s shuddering breaths, to how he poked and prodded his captors was just too real, too Martin. He thought about telling Sergio, but he knew that Sergio would point out everything that didn’t make sense, and a small, selfish part of Andres wanted to keep believing it was real, that somewhere, his soulmate was still alive.

“I’ll find you one day, _mi amor_ , even if I have to search until the end of time, I’ll do it. I promise, one day, I’ll find you.” He whispered into the darkness, not knowing that Sergio was outside his room, listening. Andres fell back asleep, and dreamt of happier times, ones filled with Martin’s smiling face, long nights fading into mornings spent on their plan, afternoons and evenings filled with their dancing figures, twirling and spinning across the monastery’s many rooms.

In the morning, Andres felt less tired than he had before going to bed, which was an improvement.

“ _Buenos_ _dias_ ” Andres greeted his brother and Raquel.

“Good morning, Andres” Raquel smiled at him, nudging Sergio, who was engrossed in a book, with notes spread out all across the table. He muttered something that sounded close enough to good morning, and leaned over to add to his notes, almost spilling the coffee Andres had placed next to him.

“What are you reading, _hermanito_?”

“Just a book about dreams and what they can mean. Speaking of, how did you sleep, I didn’t hear you last night. Did your dreams stop? Sergio looked up in panic, thinking back to how the books he had read during the night said that if the dreams stopped, it likely meant the death of the soulmate.

“No, no, I dreamt, and they were torturing him, as always, but Martin fought back” pride laced his voice.

“How so?”

“They were water-boarding him, and in the pauses he would sing Bella Ciao, right in their faces, as they were doing it”, Andres wasn’t looking at them, but off into the distance, and Sergio could see in his expression that he truly, with his whole mind and soul believed Martin was still out there.

“Andres.” Andres’ gaze flitted back to him, “do you believe that Martin is still alive?”

“Honestly? I don't know. My dreams are too real, too bloody accurate, for them to be just imagination. Do you think I would know how Martin would act when he’s being tortured? Of course not, but seeing him, laughing in their faces, as they do terrible things to him, it just, I can’t help but think he’s really out there, you know?” Andres’ expression resembled that of a puppy trying to find its way home, a mixture of hope and sadness, and it only strengthened Sergio’s resolve to find out what was happening. He would look into it, to see if they could find Martin’s body, or any loose end that would’ve tracked back to where they where keeping Martin, if he was still alive. Andres left the room, and Sergio closed his book.

He had some calls to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> another chapter!!! this one got a little dark, i was kinda going for the 'all homophobes are secretly gay' kinda thing with 'Hugo' (the meaner one). 
> 
> i wanted to give a special thanks to Pia_Pia, for being the first (and second) person to ever comment on one of my fics. it doesn't need to be much, but i really appreciate any comments (emojis included).
> 
> thank you all for putting up with my amateur writing, i really hope you like the story 🥺🤗😊🙃


	5. The More the Merrier

**PALERMO**

The guards didn’t come back for a while. Even after Palermo had called out, taunting them, daring them to come get him, they didn’t. Palermo used this time to think about Andres. He wondered if Andres had moved on, forgotten him, or if he missed him as much as Martin did.

“Palermo”, he mentally corrected himself, “my name is Palermo”.

Because Martin followed Andres out of the Mint, Martin stayed with Andres, Palermo, on the other hand, was captured by the police. It was easier for Martin to think of himself as Palermo, it stopped him crying out for Andres when the guards dragged him out of his hole, when they hit and pulled and snapped and broke him. It was easier to think of Andres as moving on from Palermo, possibly with a wife, rather than him crying over Martin.

“I’ll wait for as long as it takes, Andres. I know you’ll find me one day, and I’ll spend the rest of my time waiting for you, even if it takes up all I have left, it’s yours. Te quiero.”

*******

**THE PROFESSOR**  
Sergio burst into Andres’ room. He had just found some hospital documents under the name 'Martin Berrote'. Martin was alive. They had definitely incapacitated him, perhaps mistaking his unconscious body for a dead one, but no, Martin had not been killed. He was sent to a shabby hospital, where they had fixed him up, with little record, and then the paper trial had ended. Sergio didn’t know where yet but he had an idea, and he needed to tell Andres.

“Yes?” Andres looked up from his sketchbook, a small sad smile gracing his features.

“Martin. He’s alive, and I know how we can find him.” Tears filled Andres’ eyes.

“ _Hermanito_ , you said it yourself, Martin died” Sergio shook his head.

“Nonono, they sent him to a hospital, he was only unconscious, the body they put in a bag was ALIVE, and it was Martin. Andres. He’s alive, and I think you know what’s happening to him.” Andres shook his head, hope being torn away by horror.

“Please, Sergio, don’t do this to me unless you are absolutely sure. Sergio, they did the most horrible things to him in my dreams, and now you’re telling me that it might all be true? You do realize that the one thought that kept me through this was that Martin never actually went through any of that.”

“Andres, _por favor_ , Martin’s alive, and I know how to get him back. It involves your plan”

“our plan, _hermanito_ , Martin and I worked on that for 10 years. All we wanted was to do it. together.” A smile, true and wide was making it’s way on to Andres’ face. He dried his unshed tears impatiently, “what are we waiting for? Let’s get Martin home.” Sergio smiled brightly, he knew just where to start.

“We’re going to need the gang.”

“The more the merrier.”  
  


*******

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi missed the Professor and the team. She vaguely wondered how Denver and Monica were doing, and if Tokyo and Rio were still together. Her thoughts drifted to Berlin. The last she’d seen him, he had been utterly broken by the loss of Palermo. She heard the phone ring, and she looked at Helsinki.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry” Nairobi got up and answered the phone. “Si?”

“Nairobi? How are you? Is Helsinki with you as well? Meet me at meeting point 3 in 2 days, I need to see everyone.” He hung up. Nairobi turned to Helsinki.

“Helsinki, we’re going to Palawan, Professor’s orders!” she and Helsinki exchanged an excited smile.

“Let’s go”

*******

**THE PROFESSOR**

Sergio smiled as he saw Denver and Monica arrive, baby in Monica’s arms and iconic grin plastered over Denver’s face.

“Professor!” he reached in for a crushing hug, “good to see you” Monica smiled at him, making the little baby wave a hand.

“This is Cincinnati”, she told him, and the Professor smiled.

“We decided to keep the naming tradition” Denver laughed, the noise making the baby gurgle. Tokyo and Rio arrived next. Tokyo launched herself at the Professor, while Rio grinned sheepishly, waving slightly.

“Good to see you guys” the Professor was interrupted by a giant shout.

“PROFESSOR!” Helsinki was driving a small buggy, accompanied by Nairobi, who was waving her arms wildly. The team parted as they saw the small vehicle wasn’t slowing down, Nairobi shouting at Helsinki to slow down, his laughs drowning her protests. A few moments later, they heard a crash, and Helsinki and Nairobi stumbled out from behind the bushes. The team all laughed together once they had settled in on the sand. Denver’s voice cut through.

“Professor? Where’s Berlin?”

“Already on the boat.”

“What boat?” Nairobi questioned.

“This one” the Professor moved a few large bush leaves to the side, revealing a small, hidden away port that had a large, but seemingly humble boat, waiting for them.

“After you” he gestured with one hand, and allowed the team to make their way onto the boat.  
Andres sighed as he heard Denver’s still-annoying laugh. He was about to become Berlin in a few seconds. The stone-cold, fearless Berlin, who didn’t lose anyone special to him in the Mint, and definitely wasn’t about to pull of another heist to save that same someone.

“Berlin!” Nairobi’s voice cut above the general buzz of the group. They all fell silent and turned to look at him.

“ _Buenos_ _dias_ , long time no see.” he stood up and walked over to them, smiling warmly at them. He was cut short by Helsinki reaching over and pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. The gang laughed, all who had been standing behind Helsinki watching Berlin’s face transform from calm and welcoming, to varying shades of purple as he found it harder and harder to draw in a breath. He managed to pull his arm up and pat Helsinki on the shoulder, taking a gasp of air as the man finally released him.

He chuckled, taking a seat on the couch. The rest of the team followed him and Berlin allowed himself to marvel at the fact that they all still followed him, whether consciously or not. They all took turns telling each other about what they’d been doing, where they’d gone, and the strangest experiences they had been through since the Mint. After a few hours, the Professor walked in, announcing that dinner was ready.

They all filed in, each taking a seat, and filling their plates. After dinner, Denver looked up at the Professor.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Denver?”

“Why are we here?” he stopped to look around at everyone, and Tokyo was shooting him playful glares. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great seeing you guys again, but Professor, you sounded like you had to tell us something very important when you called us.” Some of the team muttered their agreement and the Professor cleared his throat, bringing the attention to him.

“We will discuss that once we get to where we are headed.”

“Where?” Denver persisted, his smirk fading slightly.

“Florence.” Tokyo looked at the Professor in confusion.

“But we can’t go to Europe. You said that –"

“He also said no phones, but you didn’t seem to care too much about that... Lucky for you the Professor still had the Serbians in contact. You know as much as anyone that they saved you and Rio’s asses.” Berlin’s scathing comment shamed Tokyo into silence, and he sat a little straighter, returning to his wine as the gang continued to talk of what they’d been doing the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another day, another chapter!  
> Hope y'all are enjoying this fic, most of this one was the reunion of the team, hope I got the characters right...
> 
> More singing and some memories coming in the next chapter :)


	6. Carla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL BE SLIGHT MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AT THE START OF THIS CHAPTER, IF THIS BOTHERS YOU, PLEASE, SKIP DOWN!!!

**PALERMO**

“ _Libre, como el sol cuando amance, yo soy libre_ ” Palermo’s voice drifted through the dark space in front of him. He knew that he was baiting the guards. He didn’t care. He was lost until his soulmate found him. Andres would find him, one day. He just had to be patient. “ _como el mar, libre, como el ave que escapo de su prison. Y peude al fin volar, libre, como el viento que recoge, mi lamento y mi pesar, camino sin cesar, detra de la verdad, y sabre lo que es por fin_ ” he paused, to listen to his own voice echoing through the empty space. “ _LA LIBERTAAAD!_ ” He finally shouted, not quite singing anymore, just trying to get the noise into his captor’s minds. He knew it was annoying. It was why he was doing it, after all, there was no point in pretending, Palermo enjoyed his singing sessions. He heard a door slam open, and he smiled in triumph. The small grate that was about eye-level to him, which made sure there was still air to breathe and brought in the tiniest bit of light, darkened, and Palermo could see one of the guard’s eyes glaring at him through the darkness.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” the voice hissed, “this is a mercy break. We’ve given you an hour of rest, and you’ve been spending the whole thing singing!"

"That’s enough.” He recognised the second voice as Hugo's. He pulled a face, sticking his tongue out childishly, although he knew that no one could see him.

“Hmmm, no, thanks, I think I’ll continue.”

“Just take him out, we’ll just have to cut his break short” He heard Hugo’s voice say, and Palermo could hear the smirk in his voice. He began to hum the tune of the Argentinian national anthem. As Pablo pulled him forward, Palermo felt his handcuffs tightening. Looking behind him, he identified the woman, with the flame red hair, tightening the handcuffs. They hurt, but not enough for Palermo to care. he needed a name for the lady.

“You know what, Pablo? I gave you and Hugo names, I should give one to the lady.” He tipped his head back to look at her, “I’ll call you Alicia” he watched in amusement as her face morphed from annoyance, to shock. “and the baby can be Alex, because it works for a boy and a girl. Hugo turned around, punching him hard in the stomach, causing him to double over and fall on to his knees. Both him and Pablo dragged him the rest of the way, and by the time they got where they needed to be, both Palermo’s knees were bleeding.

*******

**BERLIN**

Berlin sighed once he had finished organizing the room he and Martin had spent countless hours, days, weeks, years, working in. He had pulled up the board with all of Martin’s calculations. He had set out the chairs and desks to mimic the Professor’s classroom, and finally, he had re-assembled all of his models. The memories of going shopping with Martin, in kid’s toy shops, pretending to be buying toys for their ‘daughter’ (a figment of their imaginations, but even before they were together, they were convincing enough), and looking for the scuba divers until they had to settle with a dolphin. All of these things, that happened before he and Martin recognized their feelings for each other, still seemed so romantic and filled with love.

The Professor had taken the team on a tour of sorts, through the parts of the monastery they were allowed in, and where they were forbidden. Berlin vaguely hoped that the Professor remembered to tell them not to go into Martin’s room. He wasn’t sure he would be able to face that, even now, when he knew he was alive, he didn’t feel that he could enter the room. He heard someone clear their throat in the door way. He turned around to see the Professor standing in the doorway.

“We’ll start tomorrow Berlin. For now, come outside, enjoy yourself, you’ve been in here too long.”

“What are they doing?” he asked.

“Talking, mostly. I think Denver and Nairobi got into a fight, but they’re over it.”

“Did you tell them not to open doors that they didn’t need to?”

“Andres, they’re not going to find Martin’s room.” Sergio reassured.

“I am Berlin. We are here to save Palermo, Professor.” He snapped. They both knew that he was saying it more to remind himself than anyone, but he couldn’t deny seeing a look of hurt flash in Sergio’s eyes.

“Very well, Berlin, nobody will happen to open the one room you can’t, and even if they do, they’ll know better than to ask about it.” he retorted. The Professor left the room, and Berlin was alone again. He didn’t feel hungry, so he decided to just go straight to sleep, ignoring the pang of guilt he felt for snapping at Sergio, after all, he was only trying to help. they were all here, because Sergio had looked into something, because of a few dreams Andres had had. Now, he felt very guilty.

He sighed, making his way to the door. Turning for one last lingering look at the room, his eye caught a small piece of leather sticking out from under the cloth he had draped over Martin’s desk, where they had worked and developed the plan. He made his way over to it, curiosity getting the best of him. Picking it up, he recognized it as Martin’s old leather journal, which he had lost a few years ago. He opened it, smiling as he recognized Martin’s handwriting scrawled all across the page, a few doodles done in the margins. Flicking through it, he came to a stop when a page said in large letters “GO NO FURTHER” Berlin rolled his eyes and smiled fondly at his memory of Martin scribbling in his notebook, of course he would’ve written such a warning in his own journal. Berlin considered stopping.

Martin had written this before they were together, surely he wouldn’t mind now? He gasped as he came to a stop on a page, filled with drawings of what looked like Andres, little love hearts drawn all over it, a small sketch of Andres, clearly having a lot of effort put into it, in comparison to the rest. He was cooking, his chefs hat on lopsided, a small smile on his lips. Andres remembered the day. He had been making pancakes, as a surprise for Martin, and he wouldn’t tell him what he was making, so Martin had proceeded to ‘work on the plan’. Apparently, he had been doing this. But that was almost 8 years ago, and they’d only been together for a few months. Did that mean he had been blind to Martin’s love for 8 years? He sighed. His love had gone through so much to be with him, witnessing 5 brides come and go, being the best man at wedding after wedding, expecting each one to be the last time that he would go through such pain.

~~~

“I’m sorry, Martin” He whispered into the empty room, knowing that nobody could hear him, “I’m so sorry.” Flicking to another page, this one covered in writing, he could make out what appeared to be a journal of sorts.

_“he’s gone again. He went off with Linda to the Caribbean. I wonder why it is he always takes his brides there. is it really so much better than staying here? What if he never comes back? well, I already know what’ll happen. I’ll be alone. I’ll be empty. The two weeks that he takes away are bad enough. The first few days, I’m fine, then I start to hear voices in my sleep, dreams of Andres, dreams of him telling his wives that they mean everything to him, and that he loves them more than anything in the world. It breaks my heart, tears it right out._

_I_ _know its stupid, and I know it’s too late, but I can’t help the pang of jealousy that I feel when he leans in and kisses them, tells them he loves them, and then only to watch them break his heart, over and over again. All this time, I’ve been by his side, helping him through the worst of everything, but the moment he’s happy, no longer in pain, he leaves, just like he did a few days ago. I’m such a f*cking cliché. The gay guy who falls in love with his best friend. Am I really so f*cked up that I have to write this sh*t down on paper?_

_God, I just want him to know, how much I care about him. Just at least acknowledge it, because it’s not fair. He can look at me while I work and stare and laugh and hold my hand just a little too long, because it will have no consequences, no meaning. The moment I do something like that, everything would be gone. He would be gone. He would know... but I would never see him again.”_

I felt tears stinging my eyes. In that moment I wished that I could reach out and tell him that I do love him, that I do know. But wishes are for children. I will have time enough to tell him when we get him back. I will hold him and tell him how much I have hated this past year, because he wasn’t here. I don’t care who’s listening. Let them know. I don’t care. I continued reading.

“ _I hate that b*tch. Not because she’s married to Andres, no, but because she’s trying to break us apart. I hear her, whispering sometimes, things that sound too close to “sudaca” and “maricon” to be coincidence. When Andres isn’t with us, she openly says it. I hate that Andres tells me he loves her, because if he didn’t, the b*tch wouldn’t be able to walk._

_I_ _hate that she doesn’t say it in front of him, because she knows that if she does, she’ll be gone. And I hate her for that. I hate how nice she is to me, only to have a coughing fit the moment Andres asks anything of me. I suppose, I wouldn’t hate her as much as I do if she actually made Andres happy, but she doesn’t. he tells me she does, but I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t even love her as much as some of the others. It’s just a matter of time before she cracks, or I do, because I swear to god, if she calls me a maricon while I’m handing her her tea one more time, I’m spilling it on her. And definitely telling Andres. I don’t care if its immature, I don’t care if it’s weak, he needs to know that that b*tch is manipulating him._

_But what if he thinks I’m lying?_

_I would never lie to Andres. Not even when I tell him I’m happy for him, because I am. I’m happy that he’s happy, even though he’s not with me. If he’s living an illusion, isn’t it best to keep him in it?_

_As long as Carla makes him happy, she stays. As long as Andres is happy, the world is perfect. I’m not worth ruining that. I’m gay and I’m proud. I’m Argentinian and I’m proud._

_It doesn’t matter what she says, not anymore, not for him.”_

He felt tears well in his eyes. He recalled why he had broken up with Carla. Martin had been handing her a drink, and she had muttered something that didn’t quite sound like thank you.

Martin had smiled slightly and nodded once. It was a strange exchange, and that night Carla had told him that she wanted Martin gone.

“It’s me or the f*g” she had said. He hadn’t answered her, opting to simply push her out, along with all of her things. He pushed her out of the monastery and, before closing the door in her face he had said to her

“Goodbye, Carla.” He had closed the door on her, feeling nothing but cold fury rip through him at the woman's words. Who did she think she was, anyway?

"I don't think I can read anymore." He thought, closing the book, tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit.

He huddled up on the floor was sitting on, drawing his knees closer and resting his head on my arms. He felt the tears travel down his nose and fall, one after the other.

Slowly, he allowed sleep to take him, dreams once more filled with Martin’s screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one sitting! 
> 
> I hope you guys like where this is going, with Andres realizing how long Martin's loved him, and Martin's singing. In case you didn't recognize the song, it's from that one scene Palermo is singing in the chair. 
> 
> Kudos and especially comments appreciated :)))
> 
> ngl everything is appreciated, i literally cried happy tears when the story reached 200 hits, so thank you all for that 🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🙌🙌🙌
> 
> *also thank you to beetlebum for pointing out that i had changed perspective half-way through 😂😅


	7. Too Quiet

Nairobi was lost. Helsinki had managed to make it to their room, but she had gotten side-tracked, looking for a bathroom. By the time she’d gotten out she was pretty sure she’d forgotten everything about the Professor’s tour.

She wandered aimlessly, trying to find something that looked familiar. Unbeknownst to her, her room was identical to a lot of others. She entered a room that had a similar engraving on the handle, and turned it, pushing at it until it creaked open. She walked in, unsure whether or not this was her room.

“Helsinki?” she pushed the door fully open, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

There was a large, four poster bed on one side, a desk on the other, and a book case. She made her way over to the bed, where she saw a small picture hanging on the wall. It was a picture of what Nairobi assumed to be a large family. She picked it up, smiling at the photo of the dozen children, chaotic and happy. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she recognized a young Palermo, caught in the middle of a laugh.

One of his arms were slung across the shoulder of a brother, who was taller than him, and looked a little different, with shorter hair and brown eyes. A woman and a man stood further back, the woman had blue eyes, much like Palermo’s and long brown hair, and the man had the same facial features as Palermo. She felt unexpected tears well in her eyes at the photo. Palermo looked young in the photo, 14 or 15.

She remembered how Palermo's eyes had shone whenever he had looked at Berlin. She remembered ow they would burn with passion whenever he was ranting, how his accent would thicken when he was tired and how hilarious it would be when he swore. She chuckled when she remembered Denver daring to laugh out loud when Palermo had sworn at him, only to leave the room a changed man.

She examined the rest of the family, seeing two twin girls, each holding a small stuffed rabbit. They looked exactly like their mother. She saw other children that looked like the mother only, ones that looked like the father only, and some that looked like both the mother and the father combined.

Definitely one big, chaotic family.

No wonder Palermo was always commenting that it was too quiet. Putting the photo back where it had been, Nairobi spotted another photo, this one of him and Berlin. They were both younger, holding jewels that had clearly been stolen. Both he and Berlin looked as happy as she’d ever seen them. She noted Berlin’s arm around Palermo, and Palermo’s arms crossed over his chest, his eyes sparkling and toothy grin, chipped tooth in full view. It stunned Nairobi how Berlin was smiling, carefree, and so, so very natural. Every look she’d ever received from Berlin, prior to the day on the boat, had been calculated, as though he had carefully created each expression and face he made, but not here. Here, with Palermo, he was relaxed, natural, happy. Her heart broke as she remembered how ruined Berlin had been on the boat, and was filled with empathy for the man.

She drew her eyes across the room again, and they came to rest on Palermo’s desk, which was covered in papers and open books. Curiosity peaking, she made her way over to the desk. It was covered in blueprints and measurements. She saw a book, and picked it up. Flicking through it, she realized that it was written in a different language. Who knew Palermo could read… French? German? Whatever it was, it wasn’t Spanish. She saw notes, in Berlin’s handwriting, also in a foreign language, and notes in messy short-hand, a clear mixture of languages. Of course Palermo would write in such a chaotic way. She could clearly identify at least 3 different languages, and others that were written using letters she didn’t recognize. She set the book down. Crouching, she pulled out a drawer from the bottom of the desk. She exclaimed in surprise when all sorts of papers and notes, photos and, well, everything came spilling out. Nairobi picked up one piece of paper. It was a recipe, covered in corrections and writing, that she could easily identify as Palermo’s. Of course, the _hijo de puta_ baked. She briefly wondered if Berlin cooked. What a pair they would make. The chef and the baker. The thief and the engineer. The lover and the beloved. The Spaniard and the Argentine. She chuckled to herself, finding that she missed Palermo’s presence. The bubbly, annoying, arrogant, misogynist asshole that he was, she missed him. Sifting through the papers, she found more pictures of him and Berlin, of Berlin at weddings, of just Berlin, of just him, of Berlin and the Professor, and one picture of the whole team, all together. She briefly wondered when this picture was taken, but chalked it up to it probably being taken when they were all drunk, as she and Tokyo were wearing lights, and it was dark out. She found a mug shot of him and Berlin, standing next to each other, challenging smirks identical.

“Martin Berrote”, it read. He and Berlin were standing shoulder to shoulder, and the way Palermo’s chin jutted out, ever so slightly, reminded her of the way he looked like when he was in an argument he knew he was going to win. She could see, if she looked really hard at the slightly grainy image, that Palermo was touching his tongue to the tip of his cracked tooth, which she recalled Berlin telling her about.

“Crazy son of a b*tch” she muttered, studying the photo once more. She noted how his posture naturally seemed to take into consideration Berlin’s presence. He had pulled one shoulder back, allowing it to hide slightly behind Berlin, as if pushing him forward, or keeping him close. Either way, the image showed just how much they had both been through together. Her mother used to say, if you could cook with someone, you could be their life-long friend. Nairobi disagreed. If you could get arrested, then possibly go to jail with someone, and still choose to stay with them, then you would be life-long friends. Maybe more. Someone cleared their voice in the hallway. Nairobi looked up, panicking slightly. She relaxed when she saw the Professor.

“Nairobi, what are you doing?” his gentle voice was stern and pained.

“Got lost.” She said, waving her hand as if it explained everything. “Palermo and Berlin? Were they a thing?” Nairobi already knew the answer, but she wanted to know if the Professor knew. He sighed and nodded.

“Well, yes and no. they had been working together for more than 10 years, I think they were only together a few months before I started the heist.”

“What do you mean you think?”

“Well, honestly, when Berlin first introduced me, I thought he was going to tell me that he and Mar-Palermo were dating. Do you remember how they would finish each other’s sentences, get annoyed at the same things, share outrageous and identical views? That came almost immediately. Physically, they were used to sharing little space, pulling off a multitude of heists around the world, so personal space was a foreign concept to the both of them. I don’t actually know how long they were dating, until they started kissing in public.”

“God, Professor, it took you until they got to public-kissing for you to get it? look at this photo! Palermo looks like he was made to stand by Berlin!” she heard the Professor chuckle.

“You sound like one of Berlin’s ex-wives.”

“Gross, no thank you. I think he and Palermo work well together though. I mean, Palermo obviously, but Berlin surprises me. He made it obvious to everyone that he got bored of people pretty quickly, so for him to stay with Palermo for 10 years, damn, if that isn’t love then I don’t know what is.” The Professor sighed.

“We should clean this up, Berlin will have someone killed if he finds out they went into Palermo’s room.”

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> thanks for reading this far, love you all so much 🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺
> 
> special thanks to Pia_Pia and Nat from class for commenting, love you guys both.  
> 💖💖💖


	8. He Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!!!  
> BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF TORTURE, SKIP FEW LINES IF YR NOT COMFORTABLE!!!

**PALERMO**

“You know, Martin, you need to start giving me some answers. I’m starting to think that I kept you alive for no reason…”

“Congrata-f*cking-lations.” Palermo smirked, unable to upturn any fear at the fact that Alicia’s boredom would mean his death. “You know Alicia, you’re all bark and no bite. I’m bored. All you do is cut me up, electrocute me, beat me up, water-board me, _pah_ , nothing original. Why not try to change it every now and then. You know, ‘pregnant inspector pioneers the 21st century torturing techniques’. Something to put on your resume, for when you get – what was it – bored?” He felt a blow to his head and let out a hollow laugh. “See? That’s all there is at this point. You torture – boom -. They hit – boom -. Then I wake up in my cell – ciao -. Boom, boom ciao. Boom, boom ciao, boom, boom ciao.” He chanted moving his shoulders with it, keeping his tone light and playful, as though he were discussing the weather, not his handler’s torturing habits.

Alicia threw her head back in laughter, but it was not amusement. It was something dangerous, dark and feral.

“You’re right, Martin. how about we arrange something else? Tonight, we’re going to do a bit of digging, how does that sound? After that, you’re going to sleep in the hole you make. Then, we'll cover you up. Maybe we’ll take you out, maybe we won’t, maybe we’ll forget where you are... Spice it up.” Her cold laugh echoed through the dungeon, the promise it brought chilling.

*******

**BERLIN**

Berlin woke up in the ‘classroom’. He shook his head, trying to remember how he got there. He could feel the tears dried on his cheeks, and his eyes fell to the open diary, and it’s content came washing back to him, almost bringing him to tears again. Martin’s scrawled handwriting lay there, some pages stained with old tears, some fresh. He heard footsteps in the corridor and shot up, adjusting his suit and hair, hoping to make it look like he had an early start to the day, and not slept on the floor. Helsinki opened the door and stuck his head in. he looked at Berlin in surprise, before smiling sheepishly.

“Hey Berlin, have you seen Nairobi?”

“No, why?”

“She never went back to the room last night. I think she got lost.” Helsinki chuckled, no doubt imagining Nairobi wondering the corridors of the monastery in the middle of the night. Andres, however did not find the thought to be an amusing one. “Maybe she found another room.” The Serbian wondered aloud, only increasing Berlin’s silent fears.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” He told the other, already trying to think of a way to deal with Nairobi once he got a hold of her. Berlin was about to leave the room when the Professor walked in.

“Berlin. Helsinki. Good to see you’re getting an early start to the day.” The Professor nodded to Helsinki before sending a well-disguised glare to Berlin. “Berlin if you could come with me for a moment.”

“Oh, it’s fine Professor, I was just leaving.” Helsinki left the room, leaving both the Professor and Berlin alone.

“Andres, are you alright? I know you didn’t go back to your room last night.” Berlin looked up at the Professor.

“Professor, please, I’m fine.” Berlin tried to hide his pain behind a smile.

“Did you dream of him?” the Professor’s gaze was sympathetic. Berlin nodded, averting his eyes. Memories of his dream came rushing back, and he closed his eyes against them, willing Martin’s screams to vanish.

“I’ll be fine.” He managed, “what was it you wanted?” the Professor smiled.

“Get ready, class starts in half an hour.”

“Aye aye Professor.” Berlin smirked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll go get changed and bring in Mart… Palermo’s chalk board, he left the calculations there, also I think he had some in his notebooks. The Professor nodded, leaving Berlin to his devices.

~~~

Andres surveyed the room around him, impressed with how much clutter he’d managed to clear last night. Still, there was much to be done, desks to be placed and notes to be found. He smiled as he remembered what Martin had told him about the room. His soulmate’s voice floated through his mind, and he could almost hear it.

“It’s not messy, it’s chaotically organised.”

Berlin chuckled again. Martin was right; it certainly was chaotic.

He was going to need more than half an hour if he kept standing around.

***

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi walked into the makeshift classroom. She glanced from where the rows of desks were impeccably lined to where the Professor and Berlin were standing, side by side. She took a seat next to Helsinki and waited for the class to start. Once everyone had sat down, the Professor turned and wrote on the chalkboard,

“ _Bienvenido_ … _de_ _neuvo_ ” this earned chuckles from the seated gang. The Professor flicked his glasses up, smiling at them. He sent a look to Berlin, which peaked Nairobi’s interest.

“You all remember Palermo, yes?” Nairobi felt a pang in her chest as she recalled last night’s wanderings. Berlin was met with silent nods, and Nairobi didn’t miss the flicker of grief in his eyes.

“Wait… Was this whole meeting just a memorial service to Palermo?” Denver’s voice came from somewhere near the back. Nairobi saw the way Berlin clenched his jaw, as if trying to stop himself from retorting.

“Not quite… we actually have information that shows us that Palermo is… Well he’s not dead.” The Professor’s voice came from next to Berlin. A collective gasp rose from the group, and Nairobi felt her own eyes widen, the possibilities already racing through her mind. Although his expression betrayed nothing - none of the group had known about their relationship - Nairobi saw past Berlin’s mask, saw the joy, mixed with anguish.

“If he’s alive then he’s…” Helsinki began, trailing off and paling as he realized what the media blackout would mean. Berlin closed his eyes, dropping his head slightly. “… no…” Nairobi looked to Helsinki’s ashen face, seeing the distress written across his features.

“Unfortunately, we have some evidence that he’s being tortured. Has been tortured since the heist.” The Professor’s voice was filled with unmasked grief.

“Almost a year…” Helsinki whispered his expression the definition of pure distress. Berlin sighed.

“We have a way of getting him back. Of saving him, but we need you.” Berlin looked each and every one of them in the eyes, pleading. It was a strange look on him, the epitome of grace and elegance, all but begging.

“Why do you care, Berlin?” Tokyo’s voice came. Nairobi bit the inside of her cheek, waiting for Berlin’s response.

“Don’t you?”

“Well, he was kind of an asshole anyway…” Nairobi turned and glared at her. How could she? She raised her hands by her side. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for him, but he knew what he was getting into when he made Helsinki blow the tunnel.” Her indifference made Nairobi’s blood boil, but she breathed deeply, willing herself to stay calm. “After all, we’ve all built a life. Denver and Stockholm have a KID, Rio and I are happy, Nairobi and Helsinki are having the times of their lives. We have too much to lose for… Palermo.” She smiled apologetically at the Professor. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see why it’s worth it...” The Professor drew in a breath, eyes darting to Berlin and then back to Tokyo.

“Listen, I understand what you want to protect… who you want to protect… but you do realize that the only reason any of us are still alive is because of Palermo? He could’ve betrayed you all by now, after all, he was the one who helped me arrange where all of you would be staying, he was the one who stayed behind. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be dead or in prison. Also, after your stunt with Berlin in the Mint, when he had wanted to throw you out, who stopped him? Palermo. He alone talked sense into Berlin. He alone gave himself up. He alone held off the police long enough for us to escape. He alone has kept us safe. Surely, he is worth the risk?” The Professor looked imploringly to them all. He took a deep breath, “I can’t force you to do this. I can’t promise that it will all be fine. I can’t promise it will work. All I can promise is that I will get you out, and that it will be spectacular.” Tokyo leaned back in her chair, wild grin plastered across her features.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Same old Tokyo,” Nairobi chuckled, relief spreading through her. She noticed Berlin grinning right at Tokyo, something he’d never done before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter guys!  
> K, so chapters will definitely start slowing down now, cuz i want every chapter to go for around 1000 words. Can't believe that this fic has actually been read by 384 PEOPLE (as of now)!!!
> 
> Thank you all, as usual, i would love some comments and kudos.


	9. Passion and Pain (one and the same)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING TORTURE
> 
> SKIP WHEN 'PALERMO' COMES UP

**BERLIN**

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Bank of Spain. Our target.” On queue, Berlin swiped the sheet off of the model Martin had built, allowing it to fall with a satisfying _whoosh_. He looked up, smirking at the astounded faces before him.

“How?” Rio questioned, interest no doubt spiked.

“As you all know the Bank of Spain holds the country’s gold, their value, their _worth_.” The Professor spat the word out like an insult, “people often fight harder knowing they have nothing to lose, so we are going to show them _just how much they have_.” Berlin felt a savage pleasure at his brother’s words. Those _hijos de putas_ were going to pay for what they did to Palermo. To Martin.

“How do we get to it? I heard it was impossible.” Stockholm’s questions left Berlin with a savage grin.

“That’s where Palermo comes in,” Berlin looked up at the Professor, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“He and I spent 10 years developing the perfect plan. A work of art, really.” He threw a look to the Professor.

“We’ll take it all.”

“Rob them blind.”

“They think that they’ve created an impenetrable fortress. A safe like no other. Berlin?” The Professor waved his hand to Berlin, who made his way around the model until he was standing right in front of it.

“Here, we have the Bank of Spain. Travel down 10 metres, 20, 30, 40, and finally, at exactly 48 metres underground, we have the vault. The chamber that holds the gold.” Berlin stood up, straightening his suit. “It connects to two separate rivers, which are stopped from filling the chamber by two grates. The moment anyone touches the door, the chamber floods. Anyone stupid enough to try to break in would be crushed in less than 20 minutes. You’ll see the gold, but you would have barely touched it before your death.”

“So it’s impossible?” Denver asked, clearly confused.

“Not to us…”

*******

**PALERMO**

Palermo’s fingers were burning with blisters. He winced as he felt another lashing on his back.

“Faster.” Pablo barked, the smirk evident in his voice.

“ _Que te follo un pez_. I’m going as fast as I can.” Another lashing. Palermo bit the inside of his cheek as he felt a blister rip against the rough and splintered shovel they had given him.

“Enough.” The woman he had taken to calling Alicia threw a bag down. “Get in.” Palermo conceded. The bag was scratchy and uncomfortable. He felt enclosed, he could barely breathe due to the dust and sand around him, but now, now, he could hardly breathe at all. He felt something heavy hit one of his legs. Then it hit him again, harder and harder until he was pressed right up against the fabric of the bag, an incredible weight further constricting his ability to breathe.

“Holy sh*t I’m being buried.” He thought, fighting not to panic. He could feel the breath rattling in his chest, the faint taste of sand and dirt in his already dry mouth. “Don’t panic, just keep breathing.” He told himself, trying his best to ignore the faint sound of laughter in the distance. He felt like he was under water, but even then, at least he could swim. Suddenly, Martin heard Andres’ voice, he saw Andres standing next to him, in the chapel of the monastery, _their_ monastery. He was talking as if he were a teacher to a classroom, gesturing to Martin’s blackboard and the model he’d made years ago. Martin smiled as he remembered making one of the Mint for Sergio on his 17th birthday when he’d first started with his own plan. He felt his vision begin to darken at the loss of oxygen, his mind clouding as he fought to stay awake.

“Attaching the chamber will take some time, but with our expert welder on his way, we will be able to attach it before the whole chamber floods.” Andres’ voice filled his mind, the wild yet familiar hand gestures soothing him. He briefly wondered why Andres was explaining this part of their plan. That part had always been up to him.

*******

**LISBON**

Raquel observed the room. The whole gang was enraptured by Berlin, passion evident in his voice.

“We will melt the gold into tiny grains the size of rice,” he grinned at all of them.

How his eyes sparkled yet burned at the same time, it only showed how much it all meant to him. She knew that he and Palermo had been friends, that Berlin had been having nightmares since the Mint, but she wasn’t sure what they were of. Her mind floated back to the day in the kitchen.

_“no, no, I dreamed, and they were torturing him, as always, but Martin fought back”_

_“How so?”_

_“they were water-boarding him, and in the pauses he would sing Bella Ciao, right in their faces, as they were doing it”_

_“Andres, do you believe that Martin is alive?”_

_“Honestly? A little. My dreams are too real, too bloody accurate, for them to be just imagination. Do you think I would know how Martin would act when he’s being tortured? Of course not, but seeing him, laughing in their faces, as they do terrible things to him, it just, I can’t help but think he’s really out there, you know?”_

Raquel only now realised the passion in Berlin’s voice when he had been speaking to Sergio. The same passion that now rang in his voice as he explained the plan, the poem –as he had called it-, was the same emotion that had torn its way out of him when he’d been describing Palermo’s torture. Passion, but with an undertone of grief, of pain. She felt a pang of empathy for Berlin.

She knew all too well what love could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9 CHAPTERS
> 
> hey guys, so i just need to tell you, from now on whenever a change of perspective will be happening i'll be writing the character's name in all-caps, so that if someone doesn't feel comfortable reading about the torture, they can just skip 'PALERMO', or if they don't want to read about how much andres loves martin (i dont know why you're here if you dont, but i wont judge), they could skip 'BERLIN'.
> 
> just wanted to say that i would love to hear what you guys think, it really motivates me to keep writing! 
> 
> 🥺🥺🥺💕💕💕🥰🥰🥰


	10. Buried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING TORTURE SCENES
> 
> (skip 'PALERMO')

**MARSEILLE**

I rolled my eyes when I saw Hovik. He casually explained that he’d married another two poor women and had another 3 kids.

“Heard what happened to Martin?” I asked, knowing that he probably hadn’t.

“The short gay guy that followed the tall gay guy who got married a bunch?” Hovik smirked.

“Please, I know you know their names. We’ve known them for 8 years. Also, that’s not fair. They were together for a bit and you’ve had a lot more marriages than Andres.”

“Riiiggghht Andres and Martin.” 

“Their finally melting the gold.” I told him.

“Finally! Remember how Martin had the little cage he’d flood every now and again and stare at?”  
“And how Andres would start sketching him?”

“He’d always deny it.”

“But we all knew.” We drifted into a comfortable silence.

“What about you?” I looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“what’ve you been up to?” I shrugged, I’d been travelling, freeing animals from circuses and killing poachers, with the odd assignment every now and then.

“Got a pet. Sofia the ferret.” He grinned at the blanket I’d been holding in my arms

“Have you been carrying her the whole time?” I averted my gaze, lifting the blanket and revealing Sofia, tucked into the crook of my arm peacefully napping. Hovik cooed.

“Can I pet her?”

“Gently.” He stretched a finger and stroked her silky fur. He looked up at me.

“You’ve gotten taller.”

“And you’ve gotten fatter.”

“Alright buddy.” Hovik pulled a face meant to resemble that of mock outrage, instead, he looked more like a furry pufferfish with indigestion. I raised a single brow. “To Florence!” He suddenly exclaimed, pointing and rushing forward. I rolled my eyes.

“The plane’s the other way.”

“THE OTHER WAY!” he turned a full 180 degrees and, with a boyish grin, pulled me along behind him.

***

**BERLIN**

I sighed, dropping into a chair someone had left empty.

We’d gone through the better part of explaining how breaking into the vault and melting the gold would go, but I couldn’t explain everything. Knowing Martin is still alive, I… I felt like I was betraying him. My mind drifted to years ago, when we’d first been developing the plan. How Martin would flood his small tank and just stare at it, the gears in his mind spinning. I looked to the same tank Martin had years ago. I’d filled it just as he had, stared at it for just a moment longer than needed, just to relive those memories.

I stood up, walking over to the plastic tub. I slid a finger over the edge, not quite knowing what I was doing. Suddenly, I felt suffocated.

I couldn’t breathe. Everything was dark and I could taste dust in my mouth. I felt bound, like I was inside a bag. I felt a scratchy material against my face. My fingers burned with blisters, and my whole body was weighed down, as if something was sitting on me. I tried calling out, for Sergio, for Lisbon, for the monks, hell, for anyone. I couldn’t make a noise. I drew in a raspy breathe, felt it rattle in my chest before leaving again, all too soon. I heard distant laughter, cruel, maniacal laughter. It was familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where.

“Andres?” I felt a hand on my shoulder, and suddenly my breathe was back, my sight restored, and the laughter gone. I coughed, trying to rid myself of the dust, only to find nothing. “Andres you’re awake!”

“Sergio?” I croaked, hating how hoarse my voice had sounded.

“Andres, _dios mio_ , are you alright?”

“What happened?”

“You collapsed, right after class. you were next to the tank when I found you.” I felt realization dawn on me at Sergio’s words.

“I… I think I dreamed of Martin.” I whispered, more to myself, “I was inside something, and I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was full of sand or dust and dust, it felt like there was something sitting or me or…” I trailed off, horror dawning on me, “… like I was buried.” I felt my head begin to spin again.

“Andres, Andres, look at me. What do you mean?”

“Those sons of b*tches are burying him alive Sergio!” I sat up quickly, feeling my fingers twitch with anxiety.

“Andres calm down. I need you to breathe.” Sergio’s soothing words had no effect on me. I paced the room, my breathing rapid and uneven.

“Sergio, we need to help him, please, this… we can’t wait 5 months like last time. I… Martin… wont last that long.” I watched Sergio stand up and walk to me. Gently, he placed his hands on my shoulders and guided me to the seats.

“We’ll be inside the Bank in 2 weeks.”

“How will that help, Sergio?” I snapped; worry clouding my ability to think.

“I’ll send them a message even they couldn’t ignore, and this time, the public will be on our side.” I scoffed, unamused with Sergio’s attempt at playing Robin Hood. “I’m serious! Protests and movements across the world have used the Dali mask as a symbol. We aren’t going after the gold, we’re making a stand. We’ll reveal that we know that Palermo, that Martin, is alive. We will tell the public he’s being tortured. We'll call the Dalis of Madrid and the whole of f*cking Spain to our side. You’ll see, Andres. There’ll be crowds lining the streets in red, screaming and shouting for change. All the while, we’ll be getting Martin home.” I felt tears well in my eyes.

“Thank you, _hermanito_." I paused for a moment, "Also, were you lying to Tokyo about Martin organizing the places for us to stay?” Sergio looked up at me, confusion clouding his gaze.

“How did you think I could get Nairobi and Helsinki to Argentina? He got them protection from multiple gangs across the country. Even if they had been found, the Argentine police couldn’t have touched them.” I looked at Sergio, bemused.

“I thought you didn’t trust Martin?”

“Not with everything, but he’s better by your side. Just as I am with Raquel by mine. Just as you are by his.” I felt my heart warm at Sergio’s comment. I guess Martin had grown on him after all.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grumbled, light blush on his cheeks.

“ _Te quiero, hermanito._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 CHAPTERS!!!!
> 
> AHA thanks to Pia_Pia and Schattenecho for pointing out i'd uploaded chapter 9 twice 😂
> 
> anyway, thank u all for reading and putting up with this fic, love all 500 people who clicked on the story!!!


	11. Remember Me

**HELSINKI**

Helsinki sat on his bed, head in his arms.

Everyone was outside, eating lunch and talking, but he didn’t feel like he could do that. His mind drifted back to Palermo, the short, charismatic, chaotic, and somewhat insane man he’d met from the Mint.

They’d never been romantically involved, even after Palermo’s –rather out of place- gay comments that revealed his sexual orientation, but Helsinki still felt a kinship with the man. An understanding of sorts, a friendship. Helsinki thought of the same man who would tease and banter with the team tied up, probably beaten black and blue, being tortured for information he didn’t have.

He felt ashamed of himself. For not stopping Palermo from leaving them. For blowing the tunnel.

“It should have been me.” He thought, unable to shake the thought that at least he deserved to be dead. “He didn’t deserve that.” Without intent, his mind floated to Oslo. The tears that had welled in his eyes spilled at the memory of his brother, lying in a vegetative state, only to be suffocated by his own hands, “I’m so sorry,” he thought, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out alive Oslo, I’m sorry I accepted you wouldn’t Palermo.” He shook his head, wiping at his eyes. It wouldn’t do to stay in his room.

He needed to go make sure the rest of the team was fine.

***

**TOKYO**

Tokyo sighed, throwing herself on to the bed. She felt a little remorseful for her outburst earlier. Sure, she’d made a few points, but the Professor was right. Palermo had proven his worth to them time and time again, even if he could be an asshole, he was the reason they were all still alive. Tokyo thought about her incident with Berlin.

_Palermo sighed, bouncing on the balls of his feet._

_“Berlin. Why the f*ck is Tokyo duct-taped to a cart?”_

_“She tried to kill me.” Berlin booped Tokyo on the nose, clearly amused by her inability to react._

_“She failed.” Palermo noted, clearly amused._

_“Haven’t you ever heard that it’s the thought that counts?” Palermo laughed, and Tokyo struggled harder. He came closer to Berlin, raising his eyebrows and giving Berlin a smile that showed off his chipped tooth. Berlin relaxed his shoulders slightly._

_“I have, actually. So think about it like this. If she tried to kill you, she will gladly give up information. If you keep her alive, she’ll have less incentive to give you up to the police once we’re all free.” Palermo cocked his head, “Or do you not want to live as a billionaire in a… I feel like you said vineyard?” Berlin rolled his eyes, smiling slightly._

_“I’m not going to live in the vineyard.” Palermo dropped his grin, becoming serious._

_“You won’t live at all if you open the door. Trust me, they’ve got snipers from every angle pointing directly at the opening. Think about the vineyard, think about your life. Tokyo’s not worth that.” Berlin sighed._

_“Fine. Just take her gun or something.” Berlin left, leaving a triumphant Palermo and an infuriated and tied up Tokyo. Palermo turned to Tokyo, flicking out his switchblade. He stood over her, gaze darkening._

_“If I ever hear you do f*cking sh*t ever again, I’m coming for you. do you understand what I’m saying?” Palermo held the blade threateningly close to her neck, and Tokyo did her best to nod frantically. “Good.” Palermo cut her loose, freeing her from the cart and peeling off all the tape. He tore at the tape that held her mouth shut. Tokyo had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from crying out. Palermo looked at her, boyish grin gone, replaced with a shark’s smirk. “Stay the f*ck away from Berlin, and we won’t have any more problems.”_

Tokyo sighed. 

"I suppose I owe it to the bastard to at least try." she thought, before flopping down on her bed again.

***

**DENVER**

Denver wasn’t happy that Palermo was still alive.

Not like that, he was glad the man wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of the witty, self-assured, chaotic asshole that Palermo was being tortured.

He thought of the night they all went out to party together. Berlin, Moscow and the Professor were the only ones who hadn’t joined, and Palermo had made cocktails for everyone, adding enough of whatever it was to leave them all asleep until past noon the next day. He faintly remembered singing and dancing with Palermo, as friends, and remembered everyone sitting down around a large table playing truth or dare. It had been fun, and they had all learned things about each other, except for Palermo. Palermo had refused to take any truths, and ended up doing every dare thrown at him. Denver chuckled lightly as he thought of all the sh*t Palermo had done, drunk off his a*s in the middle of the night. He mentally checked off the list.

  * Drunk a whole bottle of something Tokyo had picked out



  * Made his way to one side of the room and back without touching the floor



  * Spent an hour (to the minute) sitting on Helsinki’s shoulders



  * Done a backflip



  * Done a backflip on the counter



  * 5 no-hands cartwheels in a row



  * Flirted with a woman (ended with him blurting out “I’m gay” in the poor woman’s face after she suggested going up to her room)



  * Walked a tight rope



  * Jumped off the hotel roof into the pool



  * Kissed Denver



  * Kissed Tokyo



  * Kissed Rio



  * Kissed Helsinki



  * Flirted with the bouncer



  * Robbed a candy store



  * Broke into a house



  * Blown up a car



  * Ridden a motorcycle with no protective gear



  * Vandalised a police station



  * Sat in Helsinki’s lap for 10 minutes



  * Drank 2 litres of water in less than 30 seconds



Denver chuckled again, shaking his head. He thought of the way Palermo had acted in the Mint. He’d been terrifying, but approachable. A good second in command. Palermo had saved his life when Berlin had been discovered by the police. His mind floated to the day.

_“Berlin! What the F*CK are you doing?!” Palermo stormed in, coming face to face with Berlin. Berlin’s icy gaze turned to Palermo._

_“This f*cker is the reason I have no dignity to my name anymore. So now he’s going to pay.” Palermo snorted, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest._

_“Dignity?” he spat the word out like an insult, “So the police spread lies about you and you lose your f*cking sh*t?” Palermo snorted, and Berlin looked at him, clearly surprised. Palermo continued, unaffected by his surroundings, by the screams of the hostages, by Nairobi’s shouts to get out of the way, “If you’re worried about your dignity, you should stop to consider what you’re doing right here, right now.” Berlin had an unreadable look on his face. He lowered his gun, keeping his eyes trained on Palermo. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. “La concha de tu madre.” Palermo muttered, shaking his head before turning to Denver. “You f*cking owe me.” He had sighed, and left the room._

_Denver and Nairobi soon heard his and Berlin’s voices shouting in a mixture of languages in a nearby room._

_“D’you think they’re f*cking?” Nairobi asked, somewhat bemused, “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Berlin and walk away.” Denver shrugged, frowning._

_“Just thank f*ck it worked.”_

Denver sighed. Palermo had saved his life that day, and he had known it. The least Denver could do was try to save his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> i hope u guys liked this chapter, just a whole lot of reminiscing, i think i'll continue it in chapter 12, cuz i want to imagine what Monica thinks of Palermo, because i'm kinda going with the whole martin-keeps-andres-human thing, so the whole 'berlin finds out that monica is actually alive' scene would've gone differently.  
> idk
> 
> as always, i'd love to hear what you guys think about the fic, kudos and comments really motivate me to keep writing, it's nice having proof that someone's read your work, otherwise i just assume that 600 people gave up on the fic half way through 😖😂
> 
> love you all, stay safe and was your hands💕💕💕✌✌✌


	12. Inspectadora

**STOCKHOLM**

Stockholm played with Cincinnati, pushing rocks along the floor pretending they were cars. She was exhausted. Helsinki made his way over to them.

“Do you want me to take care of him? You look tired, go get some rest.” He had smiled softly at her, and she’d nodded gratefully. Cincinnati turned to the Serbian.

“'Slinky!” the toddler stretched his arms out to Helsinki, who had smiled at the nickname and picked him up, swinging him in his arms.

“Go rest, Stockholm.” He had told her, before taking Cincinnati on a piggy back ride across the garden, shooting at the team with hand guns. Monica smiled, before turning to the monastery. She would go make dinner for the gang, let her mind rest.

***

As she chopped up the onions and placed them in the frying pan, Monica’s mind drifted back to the Mint. To the day she was discovered by Berlin.

_Berlin widened his eyes comically, pressing a single finger to his lips. He crept past the empty stalls, before stopping at the only closed door. Turning to Denver with a maniacal glint in his eyes, he’d pushed the door open. Monica looked up, terrified. Berlin had laughed, throwing his arms wide in mock awe._

_“Resurrection Sunday!” He had laughed, looking from Monica to Denver again. he dropped his façade. “I ordered you to kill her 3 days ago.” Footsteps._

_“La concha de tu madre, Berlin, what are you on about?”_

_“Palermo. Always a pleasure.”_

_“Don’t give me that sh*t. Why did Nairobi just come to me, running and shouting, about you killing someone?”_

_“Always with the melodramatics?”_

_“Always with the same f*cking gun?” A few more footsteps. “Berlin.” Palermo had said again, almost close enough for Monica to see. “Stop and think about what you’re about to do.”_

_“Palermo, I don’t need you to-“_

_“Like hell you don’t!” Palermo had suddenly snapped, coming forward once more and stepping in front of the stall, in front of Monica, shielding her. Berlin drew the gun, cocking it and pointing it straight at where Monica’s head would've been, if not blocked by Palermo._

_“Palermo. Step away. I don’t want to have to kill you.” Monica heard Palermo snort in amusement._

_“You don’t want to kill me?” A pause, “Well you’re going to have to kill me. Because I wont live to see the day you f*ck this whole thing up.” Palermo took a confident step forward, so his chest was right up against the barrel of the gun. “Go on. Shoot.” Palermo stuck his chin out confidently, as if he really wanted Berlin to pull the trigger._

_Berlin’s hand shook, making the gun tremble. “Andres.” Palermo had whispered, thinking nobody could hear him. He was almost right._

_I_ _ndeed, they had both forgotten that Monica was still right behind them. Berlin dropped his hands by his side, dropping the gun on the floor._

_“Just tie her up or some sh*t.” He had muttered, before pushing past Denver and going somewhere. Palermo turned to Monica, grimacing slightly,_

_“Not a word to anyone.” Then, he'd turned to Denver. “And you. Stop f*cking everything up maybe? La concha de tu madre.” He swore again, his accent thicker than usual, a tell-tale sign that he was pissed, or tired, probably both. He stalked out, giving Denver one last glare before leaving._

_“Why does this always happen to me?” Denver muttered, before coming to check on Monica, “You alright?” Monica nodded._

_“Y-Yea, let’s just go.”_

Stockholm smiled while she prepared the steak. Palermo had saved her life that day, literally looking death in the eye for her. She couldn’t wait to thank him properly.

*******

**LISBON**

Raquel sat in one of the many rooms of the monastery, not quite relaxed but not stressed either. She tried to think of Palermo. Of ‘Martin’. The man who could turn Berlin to Andres. She had met him only once, when she had to enter the Mint for proof of life.

_“Hola, Inspectadora_.” _a man with a thick Argentine accent had chuckled. “Welcome to the Royal Mint of Spain. I’m Palermo, and I’ll be your guide. The person standing next to him had laughed._ _An obnoxious broken-up chortle that made Raquel want to strangle whoever was emitting it. Palermo, as he had called himself, seemed to read her expression. “Yes, I know, we all hate Denver’s laugh. It is a mere fact of life for us hardened criminals.” Palermo put a hand to his forehead, and one over his heart, “How can we go on?” he dropped the façade, snickering. “Alright Denver, shut up. Let’s go, Inspectadora.” Palermo turned and bounced down the hall, oblivious to Raquel’s seething glare at his chosen nickname for her. She felt a gun nudge into her shoulder, pushing her forward. She turned and glared at the masked robber, taking confident steps behind Palermo. “Relax, Helsinki. I’m sure she knows how to walk.” Raquel wasn’t sure whether she liked this man or not. “Come on, Inspectadora. Or do I have to get Helsinki to carry you?” Palermo teased, nodding past her to the man who’d pushed her forward. She shook her head._

_“I’m coming.”_

_“Bien.”_

_“Where are you taking me, anyway?” Raquel was now walking beside Palermo, matching his fast pace. Palermo smirked at her._

_“To meet our fearless leader.” He stopped suddenly, turning and entering a room Raquel hadn’t seen. “Berlin.” She heard his voice say, “We’ve got company.” She heard the rustling of fabric, and ‘Berlin’ stepped out. She watched as his features blanched._

_“Palermo. This is the actual Inspector.”_

_“Yea?”_

_“You weren’t meant to bring her this far in.” Raquel mentally face-palmed for not taking her time to look around the Mint, instead of trying to read Palermo._

_“Alright, fine, I’ll take her back to the door, and you can enter with your smoke and flashing lights.” Palermo snapped, leaving the room and stepping into the light. He walked down the hall. “Come on, Inspectadora. You’ll just have to act surprised when he introduces himself.” Not quite knowing what was transpiring between the two, Raquel followed Palermo, shooting one last glance to Berlin, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering what she could only assume to be obscenities in multiple languages._

Raquel smiled softly. Palermo and Berlin had seemed like an interesting duo. She wondered briefly what he would be like once he got back. Would he be the same man, or would he be broken?

Raquel had seen what torture could do to a person. People would go in fighting and snarling, and leave broken and changed for the worse. She hoped that Palermo, that Martin, would be able to overcome the psychological harm done to him by his captors.

By her ex-colleagues.

The thought made her shudder with disgust. The same people she had called her family, the people who fought by her side, were the same ones doing such unforgivable things to her true family. She thought of the distraught Berlin –that Andres- was in, of the stress everything put on Sergio, of how she’d had to leave Paula and her mother.

“Those bastards are going to pay.”

Was all she thought as she stood up and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY CHAPTER 12 
> 
> hehe im all for palermo's accent when he's swearing its so funny to listen to, but also kinda endearing 😂
> 
> ok so im trying to make it so that everyone has a reason to like palermo, to show that he could be an asshole sometimes (like we see in actual palermo), but that he's also cute and bouncy (like martin). i also love the idea that his job would be to make sure that Berlin doesnt kill anyone 🥺😂🥰
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated 🥰🥰🥰


	13. Person-Pyramid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE START OF THIS CHAPTER WILL HAVE TORTURE SCENES
> 
> SKIP UNTIL 'NAIROBI' IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE

**PALERMO**

The weight lifted.

I felt myself moving.

I felt hands.

I fell. The floor is hard on my nose.

Light.

So much light, I haven’t even opened my eyes.

I cough.

I feel the dirt and sand in my lungs, hear it rattling with my breath, and see it flying out in my coughs.

I open my eyes.

Sun.

Light. So much light.

“Get up.” I can’t. I don’t even try.

Hands grab me.

I can’t move.

I try to move my arm.

I see it move.

I don’t feel it.

I laugh. It sounds like gravel. It feels like gravel.

“Martin?” I know that voice. Why do I know that voice. “Martin.” I looked from side to side. There’s a woman standing right next to me. I nod, trying to show that I’m listening. “Give up.” I laugh.

“Hysteria.” I think.

I laugh harder, a deranged, maniacal, insane sound. How could she not know?

“I already have.” I tell her, still laughing.

I feel my lip split. I feel the metal tang of blood in my mouth.

It’s familiar, it should scare me.

It doesn’t.

They push me forward.

My feet don’t move and I fall to the floor.

They drag me through the sand, and I feel it burn my cheek.

I haven’t stopped laughing.

***

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi walked into the classroom. She needed to talk to Berlin, to see how he was doing.

She thought of the class before, when Berlin had been explaining the plan. It was perfect. She’d heard of the Bank of Spain’s vault, the inevitable watery death that waited any who were stupid enough to try to rob. She had listened attentively when Berlin had explained the plan, the passion so very prevalent in his voice.

She chuckled lightly when she thought to Palermo’s wild gesticulation whenever he’d been talking, how Berlin would sometimes place a hand over one of Palermo’s arms to stop him from flinging them wildly in the air. She tried to imagine what it would have been like had Palermo been explaining the plan. She thought of Palermo, eyes shining just as Berlin’s had, bouncing on the balls of his feet (because that just seemed like something he would do), hands flying in every direction, but somehow managing to communicate his point just fine. She thought of him touching his tongue to his chipped tooth, as Berlin told her he did. She thought of him asking questions to the class only to answer them himself. She shook her head, clearing her mind of Palermo and refocusing on Berlin as she reached the door. She knocked on it lightly before entering, unsurprised to see Berlin standing and facing a chalkboard. It wasn’t the same one he’d used in class.

This one was further to the back, and the chalk on it seemed grey with age.

“Berlin?” She watched as he started, jumping slightly before turning to face her. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes from view.

“That’s the second time you’ve caught me crying over Palermo, if I’m not mistaken?” Nairobi smiled lightly.

“It’s fine. I just thought I should come check up on you. I don’t know… I’ll go.” She turned to leave, but Berlin shook his head.

“No, it’s fine… You might find this surprising, but I actually kind of like you.” Nairobi chuckled.

“In that case I actually kind of like you too. As a friend though.” Berlin made a face of mock disgust.

“Yeah, same. I meant as friends, if it wasn’t clear.” They laughed quietly.

“So, what are you looking at?” Berlin cleared his throat.

“Just some of Marti-Palermo’s work. Engineering stuff, I guess. All to do with the Bank.” Berlin smiled lightly. “The amount of hours he just stood here staring at the board, or bouncing up and down it...” he swallowed, “countless nights I would go to sleep to him standing right here, and wake up to him in the exact same place.”

“He sounds like he needed a hobby.” Berlin laughed drily.

“It was what he preferred. He had a social life, he loved going to bars, and dancing.” Berlin nodded to himself, “Always dancing.” Nairobi laughed.

“Do you remember the time we caught him throwing a party with the hostages.” Berlin laughed at the memory.

**_***_ **

_Palermo swung his arms around, jumping and spinning along with the hostages, playing the music loudly. They all laughed and talked, but Palermo was mainly enjoying the music thumping through him as he danced with random people. They all froze as the door swung open, the music stopping. Palermo groaned as he saw Berlin and Nairobi standing in the doorway, each holding their guns and looking half-ready to shoot. While Nairobi doubled over in laughter, Berlin looked bemusedly to Palermo._

_“Really, Palermo?”_

_“What? Did you expect me to stay here for 11 days without a bit of fun? And these guys have to sit through the whole thing. This was a team-building exercise.” Palermo argued, standing resolutely in front of the hostages, “besides,” he added with a slight smirk, “It’s not like I didn’t take safety precautions…” he gestured to the ceiling, where Arturo hung, and Nairobi laughed harder, seeing him dangling from the ceiling, duct-taped mouth and tied to a sheet that wrote ‘BE WARNED: ASSHOLE’._

_Even Berlin cracked a smile at Arturo’s outraged expression as he struggled against his binds._

_“Alright, everyone back to the hall, please. Nairobi, take them with you. Palermo and I will get Arturo down.” The hostages all followed Nairobi out of the room, who was still cackling with laughter. “You really wrote that?” Berlin asked, looking amusedly once more at Arturo._

_“Yeah. I couldn’t have him dancing with us, he would’ve totally ruined everything and tried to escape or some sh*t.” Berlin looked up to where Arturo dangled, now spinning slightly._

_“How’d you get him up there?” Palermo grinned._

_“You forget I’m an engineer.” Berlin looked at him disbelievingly._

_"I got the hostages to make a giant person-pyramid, and I dragged him up." Palermo laughed, "Everyone hates Arturo."_

_"United under a common cause."_

_"Can you blame them?"_

_"Of course not, you're right, he's an asshole."_

**_***_ **

Nairobi looked to Berlin, glad to see him happy.

“So how did you find out that Palermo’s alive?” Berlin frowned.

“You can’t tell anyone.” He said, crossing his arms. Nairobi raised her hands to her side, drawing a cross over her heart.

“Swear I won’t.” Berlin averted his gaze, sitting down.

“I had dreams. Terrible, terrible dreams of Palermo being tortured. They’d do all sorts of things to him, and he’d do things that were so realistic they made me shiver. They would stab him, and he’d laugh in their faces. They’d water-board him and he’d sing Bella Ciao.” Berlin shook his head, “I would wake up in the middle of the night, with the Professor by my side, asking me if everything was alright. I told him about the dreams, and that they were happening every night. To put me to ease, he looked for documentation of Martin’s death, but instead he found a paper trail leading us to a hospital, saying he was discharged and placed into private custody. Legally, they can keep him in private custody for 72 hours. He was discharged about a month after the Mint. Which means he’s been tortured this whole time.” Berlin sagged. “I feel so guilty… for letting it all happen… for believing he was gone so easily… I just… I’m so happy he’s alive, but to think he’s been tortured this whole time…” Nairobi shook her head.

“It’s not your fault. We all know what happened. He pushed you into the tunnel. And now, we’re all going to get him back, because of you. imagine if you hadn’t had your dreams, Palermo would have probably stayed there for the rest of his life.” Berlin ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re right…” Nairobi leaned in and gave him a hug.

“Come on, let’s go outside. Fresh air would do you some good.” Berlin nodded and followed her out, locking the door to the classroom behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally!!! chapter 13!!!!!
> 
> im sorry this took so long to write, i kind of lost my inspiration for the fic, but i think they're going to have a few more classes and then they'll break into the bank (maybe). i'm making sure writing the fic doesnt become a chore, because it's an escape for me, the fandom in itself is a secret to just about everyone i know (except nat, but she wont read anything 😂😂😂), its just so freeing having something that nobody can ruin, i dont want to ruin it for myself.
> 
> comments and kudos really motivate me, and i really appreciate them, love you all, thank you for putting up with me and my sh*t. 😂🥰🥺😘😊😆


	14. Almost There

**THE PROFESSOR**

The lights flicked on, and Sergio took his seat, adjusting the mask. He flicked open the camera, waiting 30 seconds before beginning his message.

“This message” he paused “is for all of you who see this mask as a symbol of resistance.”

**BYSTANDER**

“we need you.”

I felt chills run up my spine.

“The state has declared war on us.”

I blink, of course they did.

“A filthy war.”

A what?

“And we’ve decided to make a stand.”

I froze as he lifted his mask, pulling back his hood and adjusting his glasses.

 _“El Profesor.”_ I thought, captured with awe. Murmurs surrounded me.

*******

**BERLIN**

Berlin checked over his shoulder again, looking around him at the team. They were all preparing, each in their military style uniforms and poised, ready for action. As soon as the Professor sounded the alarm, they would be ready to go.

He thought of the last time he’d done this. They had blocked a road, entering the Mint as uniformed officers. They had been careful not to show their faces the last time, but this time would be different. They were making a statement, taking a stand.

“For Martin.” he thought, repeating it in his mind like a mantra.

It had always been Martin.

*******

**PROFESSOR**

“The police have captured one of us in a foreign country.”

I took a deep breath, thinking of Martin, chaotic and keen-spirited, locked in a cage. I let the fury show on my features.

“Martin Berrote.”

I thought of Andres, of the pain he’d been in the past few weeks, of the pain he’d been in since the Mint.

“He was captured by the police after the Mint. He was discharged into private custody 9 months ago, and no formal charges have been made.”

Sergio felt a little sick.

“They haven’t requested extradition, and they haven’t provided a lawyer.”

He swallowed before continuing.

*******

**BYSTANDER**

“He’s being held captive in some unknown place, and in all likelihood they are torturing him.”

I put a hand to my mouth. I imagined the man that was introduced as ‘Palermo’ on the heist interview, the way he had laughed and contrasted with the supposed ‘leader’ of the heist was somewhat endearing.

I remembered when I’d heard that he’d been killed in the escape. The Professor took a deep breath, continuing again.

“We are demanding that his illegal detention be brought to an end right now.”

I could hear the supportive murmurs in the street growing louder.

“And that he is brought to justice while respecting legal standards.

I nodded my approval. What the government is doing is wrong. How can they claim to stand for the law and what’s right when they do this sort of messed up sh*t?

*******

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi reached over and patted Berlin on the shoulder, giving him a soft smile and one-armed hug.

“Soon.” She whispered.

“Soon.” Berlin agreed. She felt him relax slightly, his tensed shoulders dropping slightly.

“Here.” She handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it gratefully.

“Thanks. I didn’t sleep very well.” He said, and Nairobi frowned slightly.

“The dreams?” she asked.

“The dreams.” He confirmed. She didn’t miss the shudder that ran down his spine.

*******

**PROFESSOR**

Sergio swallowed heavily.

“The state began this war. And we’re not going to hide.”

He looked straight into the camera.

“We’re going to fight back.”

He flicked up his glasses.

“Blow. For. Blow”

He nodded after every word, emphasising every word. He sat back in his chair slightly.

“And this time, the heist will be even bigger than the last time.”

He stood up and closed the camera, leaving to go to the van waiting outside. It was time.

*******

He turned on the radio nodding to Lisbon. They both leaned in, listening to the static crackle before a voice broke through. They waited and waited until finally,

“Bank of Spain, BPAC, Regiment 6.”

He snapped into action, pulling his radio and flicking it on.

“Berlin. BPAC, Regiment 6.”

**BERLIN**

“BPAC, Regiment 6.” Berlin snapped up, rounding to his team.

“BPAC Regiment 6! Let’s go, let’s go, hurry.” He secured his hat, while Stockholm passed the magnets to Denver, who gave them to Nairobi, who used her forger’s eyes to apply them impeccably.

They connected perfectly, because of course they did, and Nairobi turned to him, nodding firmly.

He turned to Bogota and Rio, who were already getting in the front of the truck, with Tokyo and Denver getting in the back.

He looked to the second truck, where Helsinki was waiting with Stockholm. He nodded to Nairobi, signalling for her to enter. She did, and he shot one more look around the garage, enduring that nothing was left, before entering. “Let’s go.” He said into his radio, and Helsinki began to drive, followed by Bogota.

*******

**PALERMO**

Palermo felt his eyes drift close. He rested his head back against the wall, giving in to sleep. Instantly, a crowbar ran along the bars of his ‘window’.

“Martin.” A sickly sweet voice rang out. “No sleeping. Come on, let’s go get coffee.” The door swung open and Palermo tried to pull back, but he was dragged out by the guards. He struggled, trying to pull away. “Relax.” The voice said again. He felt his shoulders drop. He trudged forward, the occasional prod coming from behind as the guards followed him.

Palermo tried to think of times before the red haired woman and his tormentors.

“Andres.” Whispered his mind. “Think of Andres.” Palermo felt the strength return to him as he thought of Andres’ wide smile, the way his teeth flashed in certain lighting, the way his eyes shone whenever he was with him. He turned and spat on the ground at the guards feet.

“ _La concha de tu madre._ I’m tired. F*ck off and let me walk.” He glared challengingly at both of them, who were both frozen in surprise. That had been the first time he’d called the guards by their nicknames since the ‘burial’.

The first time he’d thought of Andres.

*******

**BERLIN**

Berlin watched the streets, lined with people in red, whiz by.

He felt his eyes prick with tears as he thought of all those people protesting in Martin’s name. Actively taking a stand to get Martin back to him.

“Well not just Martin.” he heard a voice –sounding suspiciously like Sergio- whisper in his ear. “They are there to stand up against oppression.”

“But.” He argued with himself, “It wouldn’t be happening right here, right now, if they didn’t want Martin to stop being tortured.” He smiled softly to himself, watching the protesters in red shout at the armored van he was in. He turned his head forward, and saw the Bank of Spain coming into full view.

Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 14!!!!!!
> 
> ACTION WE FINALLY GOT THERE!
> 
> so we r almost at the important part  
> let's pray nothing goes wrong 🤞🤞🤞
> 
> love you all for making it this far, and thank you especially to Schattenecho for telling me to get a move on 😂🙌🥰✨
> 
> ALSO WE GOT TO 1K HITS AND 100 KUDOS THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH LOVE YOU ALL 🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💕😆😆😆


	15. A Battle of Fire and Ice

**OUTSIDE THE BANK OF SPAIN**

Red. The street came alive with people shouting and screaming, yelling and arguing. The _guardia civil_ held a firm line, pushing against the protesters with a cold determination.

The protesters beat against the plastic riot shields, the air thick with shouts for change. They chanted as one, coordinated their pushes against the barricades, everything they did, they did together.

Because they were all here for the same reason. They were here to stand up to their government, to the sins of the state. The twisted mess of politics twisting their own words into something to be used against them.

The sky darkened, as if the gods themselves were preparing for a fight. A man takes a running leap at the shields, only to be thrown back with a blow. The people surged with a new fury.

Red and hot, warm and passionate with rage. Nothing like the icy cold determination of the civil guards, impersonal and unforgiving.

It was a battle of fire and ice, of passion and power, of right and wrong, and neither side would give up without a fight.

The wind picked up as the crowd moved forward again, picking up the red and brown leaves of autumn, blowing them to the civil guard’s feet as they fought to hold the line. An armored van drove past the barricades, coming to stop one inside the fence. The guards rushed to close the gap the van had left, their firm expressions all identical to one another, standing straight and back, pushing against the protesters with the same indifference.

*******

**STOCKHOLM**

Stockholm marched beside Berlin, keeping her lips pressed firmly together and eyes up front.

“I will not order my men unless I have the Marshall’s command.” The head of the civil guard stood challengingly in front of Berlin. Stockholm swallowed, before saluting.

“Sir! They request immediate entrance!” she stayed looking ahead, as she’d been told she’d have to do. She watched the back of Berlin’s head roll back, and she could imagine the predatory grin on his face. The head of the civil guard remained resolute, holding up his radio.

“Sir?” Stockholm felt her breathing stop. She blinked once, trying to keep her gaze fixed directly ahead. She could almost imagine the Professor rushing around his small van, fiddling with his glasses in his stuffy suit, trying to break into the radio waves of the guard.

“Hand over control of the area to the army. Let the van through, you are under their command.” The head of the civil guard huffed. Berlin saluted, stamping his foot, and the guard returned it, removing the blockages and directing his men to push the crowds back 150 feet ( _author note: according to google, 150 feet is about 15 metres, long live the metric system_ ), and to prepare the smoke canisters.

They marched into the bank, Berlin ordering the Bank security member to get everyone into the lobby.

Once each person was accounted for, Rio and Denver left to get the governor and his guards, while she, Berlin and Nairobi made their way up the stairs, Stockholm allowed herself a moment to admire the Bank. Up on the ceiling, the beautiful tiles congregating into fascinating golden swirls. The floor was a masterpiece too, the grey-green tiles providing a sense of wealth, of elegance, of power to the already imposing building. She heard Bogota and Helsinki parting the hostages into two groups. Looking down, she saw the large Serbian take position at the door, while Bogota freed one group. She watched as Helsinki stepped back inside, discretely nodding to Berlin.

The building shook with a force like none Stockholm had ever known when Berlin pushed his button. Screams sounded once more, reverberating through the stone and marble wonder that was the Bank of Spain. The hostages quietened, and Berlin began to move to the railing.

“You’ll be safe here.” He began, his voice demanding the attention of everyone. “Nothing to worry about writers and poets, right?” he chuckled, feigning amusement. He reached the railing, looking out to the sea of about-to-be hostages below him. He dropped his grin. “Put your hands up.”

No reaction. Berlin tsked and mimed the action.

“Come on, like you’re in a robbery.” Tentative hands copied his actions, and Berlin nodded. “Very good.” He muttered, before clearing his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have two pieces of news for you all. One good, and one bad.” He paused, waiting for his voice to stop echoing through the now almost silent Bank. "The bad news is that the Bank of Spain is under attack.” Rustling and screams ensued.

Berlin, unfazed, began to unzip his jacket.

“And the good? Is that we are the attackers!” Instantly, he dropped his jacket and pulled up his hood, Stockholm and Nairobi cocking their guns beside him, pointing it down at the hostages.

Chaos.

Screams sounded all through the Bank, echoing and doubling in quantity. Helsinki barricaded the door, stopping the hostages from escaping. Stockholm felt a small amount of pity for the hostages, she knew the feeling, the questioning of whether or not one would live or die in the next few days a terrifying one. But she also knew that they would all leave unharmed, or at least alive. She followed Nairobi, walking down the spiral staircase and began to divide the hostages into groups.

It had begun.

*******

**PALERMO**

“Put the mask on, Martin.” the lady said.

“Alicia,” Palermo thought, smiling lazily.

“I’d rather not, actually.” He said. He watched as her features darkened.

“Hugo. Put on his mask.” Palermo twisted and turned in his captor’s rough hands. The same hands that had beaten, twisted, drowned, choked, _buried_ him, now pushed the mask on his face. Alicia leaned down, and Palermo knew that she was spinning a nozzle to get the gas pumping into the mask. He rolled his eyes, breathing it in. Palermo allowed his eyes to wander his cell. It was damp and dark, terribly suffocated and undeniably filthy.

They sat in silence for about 2 minutes, before ‘Alicia’ spoke to him again.

“Martin. What do you know about Sergio Marquina?” Palermo thought of Sergio, little Sergio, who had planned the biggest heist to date. He considered talking about Sergio with Alicia. He heard a small voice, fighting through the haze the gas had put him in.

“Don’t tell her anything important, Martin.” Then Andres’ voice.

“Maybe f*ck with her a little.” Martin smirked, leaning back in his seat.

“He used to love ocean documentaries. Tell me, Alicia, have you ever heard of the term, Aikido?” He watched, amused, as Alicia took out a paper and a pen, shaking her head and motioning for him to continue. “It’s the idea that you can use your enemy’s strength to your advantage. Take sea turtles, for example. They could swim against the ocean currents, find their own place, or, they could use the current’s strength to push them to where they need to go.” Alicia looked at him, annoyed.

“What does that have to do with Sergio Marquina?” She snapped. Martin shrugged.

“Blame the gas. I’m an engineer, not a drug addict, I don’t know how to function on drugs.” She made a frustrated noise, throwing the pencil on the table. Martin smirked.

“Good job, Palermo.” He heard Andres whisper, and he could almost see his slight grin, almost see the way his eyes would have been shining. almost feel him near.

"It's all for you Andres, _te quiero_." he thought, as he watched Alicia being called outside. He watched her answer the phone. Strange, how she walked out, like she was waddling with dignity. Stranger still, was how she came back inside.

"Take him to the guest room. Give him a shower and make him look clean. I'll be right over as soon as I finish this." Palermo barely heard her, but he felt Hugo's rough hands and Pablo's somewhat softer ones pick him up and place him on his feet, walking him to a 'bathroom'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Developing? yes.  
> Amatuer? also yes.  
> Sorry? so very very much
> 
> ok, so the gas thing is the last of Martin's torture, he's SO CLOSE to being free 😁😁😁😁😁😆😆😆😆
> 
> i wanted to thank Schattenecho and beetlebum for you support and help, i love you both 🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💞💞💞😘😘✨✨✨💖💖💖


	16. Really You, Really Here

**ALICIA**

“Come to Spain and bring him.”

The Colonel hung up without another word, and Alicia sighed into the damp room. It wouldn’t be hard to get Martin dressed and showered, but she would have to make his bruises and marks invisible.

She went to the storage room and got out some clothes, setting them up in the bathroom along with a towel. She told the guards to take him there, to watch over him as he showered and go into the clean clothes. She would dress him herself, so she could plant the bug in him and hide all traces of abuse from his skin.

*******

**PALERMO**

The warm water was a welcome change to Palermo. It was strange, what would they do to him next? No way they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts. There had to be something larger at play here.

Something more sinister.

Palermo shook his head.

He could worry about what Hugo and Pablo would do to him later. Now, it was his time to relax. To cleanse himself of their touch. Of the beatings, the electrocutions, the sleep-deprivation, the starvation, of the torment.

Of the rape.

No, it was not time to think of those things now. Now, he would simply enjoy the feel of warm water and fresh prison-clothes.

***

Alicia returned, and she brought a black and white suit that seemed to be his size. Wordlessly, she dressed him, brushing his hair and preparing him a meal.

Very strange.

She hummed as she applied makeup over some of his visible wounds, matching the shade perfectly to his skin. Martin didn’t make to stop her as she placed a blind fold over his eyes. He winced as he felt a sharp pain sting in his forearm, but he didn’t move, knowing full-well what she was doing.

She was planting a bug. Why, Palermo had no idea. It’s not like they were intending on letting him go anytime soon.

Maybe they wanted to hear him when he was awake, to make sure that he didn’t have any more time to sing. It didn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t like Alicia would tell him if he asked.

“So.” He said, somewhat unsure of what to do. He was blindfolded, with the mentally unstable pregnant lady cutting him open.

“So.” Alicia returned.

“What’s happening?” he asked, throwing caution to the wind. Alicia sighed.

“You’re being set free.” Martin frowned. They’d already done this before. They’d pretending that he was being set free, only to have him relocated.

“Relocated?” He asked, disbelieving.

“No.” Alicia’s tone was akin to that of a cat toying with a small mouse backed into a corner, “Free. Your heist friends seem to have realised that you.” she paused, “are very much not dead.” Palermo felt a sharp sting, “I am needed, and I have to bring you,” another sting. “And you’re being set free because the government is scared of what the Professor will do.” the sharpest sting followed, as Alicia spat out the last sentence. Palermo only smirked.

“Annoyed, are we?” he asked.

“No, just finishing up.” Alicia removed his blind fold, rolling down Palermo’s sleeve before he had a chance to take a proper look. “Let’s go.” She pulled Palermo up by his –still very sore- arm and dragged him outside and directly into a plane.

***

**NAIROBI**

“Listen, Berlin. You need to be careful with Martin, alright?” she looked to Berlin, somewhat worried. She only saw pain reflected in his gaze.

“Nairobi, I know.” she smiled softly at him, giving him a quick hug.

“Just make sure you remember. Now, go get ready, I’ll give you guys 10 minutes, in which you’ll get a bit of time to… reacquaint.” She laughed at Berlin’s expression, “I’ll be able to hold them off for only that long, but I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you, Nairobi.” She smiled again at Berlin. She couldn’t believe she used to fear him. obviously, she still did, but she now saw him as human.

Of course, she had no doubt in her mind that he could tear someone’s insides right out of them while looking them in the eye should they wrong him, but she no longer felt unconditional distrust. In it’s place, was a growing friendship. A friendship built on shaky trust and broken hearts.

It was a friendship built on humanity.

***

**PALERMO**

Martin got out of the car. He looked around him.

Fresh air.

The bright blue sky with the sun shining bright had never looked so beautiful to Martin. the screams and shouts of the protesters nothing but white noise as he took in his surroundings.

The Bank of Spain.

Finally, after all these years, Martin was finally entering. And inside? Everything he’d ever wanted.

Andres.

Forget the gold, forget the glory. All he wanted was Andres. To feel him near, to hear his voice, to see his face. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. opening them again, he focused on the protestors. They were chanting his name. or at least, his heist name. mixed shouts of Palermo, and _vive le Resistencia_ filled the air around him, a force so powerful he felt like he could drown in it.

A voice of passion, of indignance, of warmth, of rebellion.

And oh, what a beautiful voice it was. Martin turned to go up the steps into the Bank, stopping at the top. He turned once more and bowed to the protesters, more jokingly than anything else.

But the way the protesters’ voice seemed to double made him feel like he really was an actor, taking his final bow. Smirking, he gave an obvious one-fingered salute in the general direction of the police tent – much to the amusement of the protesters – and entered the Bank.

As he stepped inside, and the door shut behind him, his eyes focused to the significantly dimmer lighting.

“Martin?” Martin smiled widely at the voice, feeling his eyes already pricking with tears.

“Andres?” He saw the man he’d dreamed off, the man who had occupied his thoughts, the man who was his reason to keep breathing, standing right in front of him. Andres was on him in a fraction of a second, holding him, whispering to him, feeling him. Martin returned the hug with the same amount of fervor, burying his face deep into Andres’ chest, waiting for something to go wrong, for the guards to suddenly appear and start laughing.

“Martin, Martin, Martin, _mi querido, mi vida, mi amor,_ I missed you so, so much.” Andres pulled away slightly, cupping Martin’s face, trailing his hands down his cheeks, wiping away tears Martin hadn’t noticed were falling.

“I missed you too, Andres.” Martin looked into Andres’ eyes. the same brown ones Martin had thought of in his darkest moments, the same brown eyes he looked into right now, the same brown eyes that were filled with tears. “God, Andres. I love you. I love you so f*king much.” Andres chuckled lightly, pulling him impossibly closer. Martin leaned up and connected their lips, melting even further into Andres’ hold.

It felt like his first kiss.

He felt the butterflies explode inside him, nerves fizzing and crackling with energy and pure euphoria. He ran a hand through Andres’ hair, feeling him as if for the first time. He felt Andres’ teeth graze his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth willingly, allowing Andres full access. They broke apart, panting, and Martin looked at Andres once again.

“It’s really you.” Martin broke out into breathless sobs of joy, unable to process the fact that he was free, that Hugo and Pablo and Alicia couldn’t hurt him anymore, that Andres was there with him, that everything would be alright. He felt Andres run a hand through his hair, trailing it down his face and once again wiping away the tears.

“God, Martin, I missed you so much.” Martin knocked himself lightly against Andres, and Andres held him for a while longer, holding Martin’s face against his, moving his hand comfortingly up and down his neck.

“Hey! No! Just give them a moment Tokyo! Denver no! Stockholm, can you help? Helsinki!” Nairobi’s muffled shouts echoed from the other side of the door, and Andres chuckled weakly. Martin only just now realised that only he and Andres were standing in the room, not another team member in sight.

“Where is-“

“Nairobi locked the doors.” Andres looked down at him. “Don’t suppose you’d want to go say hi?” Martin grinned at him.

“Just gimme a sec, I’ve got to dry my eyes.” Martin moved to wipe away his tears, but Andres pulled them close once more, whispering a quiet,

“Allow me,” before proceeding to wipe his face clear of tears, kissing him gently and taking him to the door, where he then unlocked it. “Ready?” he asked as the doors swung open, revealing a large room. He was frozen in his spot for a moment, looking the Bank up and down, marveling at the building, the structure, the palace that was the Bank of Spain. His gaze shifted downwards, and his face split into a wide grin as he recognized his old team mates.

His friends

His family.

“Hey, gu-“

“PALERMO!” the gang all cheered, all rushing up to him, each suffocating him in a bone-crushing hug. Martin was just about to call for help, when suddenly Andres appeared at his side, putting a physical barrier between him, and the over-eager team. Martin took a moment to take in every face. He gave them a lopsided grin. Crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Andres, he asked,

“So you don’t think the plan’s suicidal then?” Andres chuckled, shaking his head,

“That’s not fair… you know what Serg- the Professor can be like.”

“What do you guys think? Suicidal or brilliant?”

“Both?” Came the confused reply. Denver. He rolled his eyes, still grinning.

“Ok, ok, enough teasing. Palermo, we all missed you.” Nairobi stepped forward and gave him a hug. One which Martin accepted.

“You know? I missed you guys too.” He grinned, taking a moment to look each of his friends in the eyes... and Tokyo. He looked at Tokyo as well.

“Nairobi, Helsinki, Denver, Rio, Tokyo… and, I’m going to guess… Stockholm?” Martin reeled off his list, refreshing his mind on everyone’s names. Helsinki laughed, his great voice making the noise boom, doubling in volume. He felt Andres curl a hand around his waist, tugging him somewhat closer. He watched, somewhat amused, as Tokyo poked Denver in the back and mouthed “ten bucks” at him.

Suddenly, Nairobi clapped her hands together.

“Tour?” she asked, spontaneous and wild, only in the best of ways. “Come on, Palermo, Berlin. Let’s go. Everyone else, back to work, let’s go.” The gang grumbled as they were shooed out, “also, don’t forget to tell Bogota and Matias!” she shouted as they left. rolling her eyes, she turned back to Martin. She smiled warmly. “It really is good to have you back, Palermo. Berlin really needs you.” Andres tsked, batting her away.

“Come on, tour time?” Andres gave Nairobi a pointed look, before turning back to Martin.

“Palermo, I believe that you’ll already know the Bank inside out, so do you want to use this time to rest a bit?” Martin only rested his head against Andres’ shoulder, smiling lightly.

“I don’t care. Just don’t leave me.” Andres pressed a kiss into Martin’s hair.

“No need to worry about that, _querido_. I’m never leaving your side again.”

“Nairobi is still here.”

“That, I am.” She agreed, only smiling softly at them. “Palermo, Berlin, if you guys would just come with me.” She lead them up the stairs and into a closed off office. “There was no tour. I’m not an idiot, I know Palermo knows this place inside out.” Martin took in his surroundings. Two large couches were pushed up against each other to resemble a bed, with soft pillows and blankets covering the floor. There was also a desk with plenty of pens and paper. Andres let out a breathless chuckle.

“Nairobi, you’re amazing.” Martin said, turning to look at Nairobi.

“I know.” Martin picked up a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down on it.

“ _Querido,_ what are you-“ Andres was cut off with Martin placing a single finger over his lips, signalling for quiet. He tapped the pen against the sheet of paper he now held up, with one word scrawled on.

_“Bug_.” He extended his arm and tapped lightly over the inside of his arm, close to his artery. Andres pursed his lips, and Nairobi put a hand over her mouth. “So, do you guys have a jumpsuit for me, or am I going to be spending the rest of my time in a suit?” he asked, as he folded a paper airplane and threw it to Nairobi, along with a pen. Writing on her own piece of paper, Nairobi wrote

_“I’ll call the Professor. He said that they might do that. We’ve got surgical equipment ready._ ” Martin only nodded once, before moving closer to Andres. He didn’t want to think about Denver slitting him open. Not now, not when he was so close to being with Andres.

“I’ll leave you two alone and… get an overall.” Nairobi left, closing the door behind her.

In an instant, Andres was on him again, pulling him close and connecting their lips. Martin made a quiet noise of protest, tapping against the paper. Andres pulled away, confused, before smirking slightly. Grabbing the pen out of Martin’s hand he wrote.

“ _let them listen_.”

He pressed another kiss to Martin’s lips, and this time, Martin opened his mouth eagerly, moaning when he felt Andres run a hand through his hair sensually. They broke apart, panting.

“I love you.” Andres whispered, looking deep into Martin’s bright blue eyes.

“I love you too.” Martin rested his forehead against Andres’ shoulder, feeling Andres' chin rest on his head.

“Come on, let’s get some rest, the double couch looks comfy.” Martin only nodded his assent before Andres all but swept him off his feet, carrying Martin to the couch-bed, where they both lay down.

Martin burrowed deep into Andres’ hold, tucking his head into the crook of Andres’ neck. All the while Andres kept a firm arm around his waist, securing him, and the other tangled in Martin’s hair.

Martin only clung to Andres, before allowing his eyes to flutter close, relaxing completely in Andres’ hold. Andres smiled lightly, breathing in Martin.

“I love you.” Andres whispered again, knowing full well that Martin was asleep, “I love you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🥳🥳🥳🥳  
> MARTIN 👏 AND 👏 ANDRES
> 
> so... what did you guys think?   
> finally, finally, finally, its bloody midnight right now (1:04 am as of now AEST), and i just wrote 2.4K words. i read the writing over and over, and let me just say, I TRIED 😂😅✨
> 
> i would also like to address anyone who does not like my writing or this fic:  
> please, if you have a problem with the fic, or the writing, i would appreciate constructive criticism. i won't name anyone, but an unkind comment was left on a previous chapter, which i may have misunderstood, but nonetheless really hurt me. i know its not everyone, but to anyone who feels that my writing is not adequate, please, don't just tell me i suck  
> trust me, i know, and i'm trying to get better, but that sort of thing doesn't help. I'm more than happy to receive constructive criticism, and I'm more than fine with someone not liking the fic, but please, im only asking you to consider what you write.
> 
> ANYWAY  
> LOVE ALL YOU GUYS SO MUCH I'D LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THEIR REUNION IT TOOK 16 CHAPTERS BUT HERE, THEY'RE HAPPY (now let's just wait and see what happens)!!! 💖💖✨✨✨✨😂😂😂🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💕❤🧡🧡💜💜💜💙💙💛💛💚💚  
> LOVE YOU ALL 🥰🥰🥰🥰✨✨✨✨🌈🌈🌈🌈


	17. By Your Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for refrenced rape and abuse (if you want to skip its just in the part that's highlighted as PALERMO, but don't worry, he's just dreaming)  
> TW's for guns, trauma, arsenic, racist slurs, homophobic slurs, swearing
> 
> god i really dont know how to put warnings  
> JUST BE CAREFUL AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, PLEASE 💖💖💖💖

**THE PROFESSOR**

Sergio threw his head back in relief when he saw the car that had approached the Bank open to reveal Martin.

He tapped Raquel on the arm, pointing wordlessly to the screen, and they had both jumped up and down in the van together, both crying and laughing in relief.

“He did it, that crazy bastard, he did it!” Raquel laughed, tucking her face in the crook of Sergio’s neck. “Wait, what’s he doing?” In a sudden panic and fearing for the worst, Sergio spinned around to face the grainy cameras again.

Martin had stopped at the front of the Bank, and for a terrible moment, Sergio thought that he’d been shot in the back. Instead, Martin turned and gave the police tent the middle finger, making Sergio throw his head back in both exasperation and relief. He looked down at Raquel, and beamed at her, meeting her halfway as she leaned up to kiss him.

When they parted, Sergio checked the cameras to see the gang swarming Martin, each giving him hugs and no doubt greeting Martin with an empowered fervour.

“ _Querido,_ we did it! We got him back!” he looked down at Raquel, who was beaming up at him, interlocking her hand within his.

“We really did, didn’t we?” Raquel nodded and held him closer still, grounding him, silently assuring him that it was real. He pulled her close, giving her a tight hug, thankful that she was here with him.

When they pulled back, he flicked up his glasses and refocused.

“Now, we wait.”

***

**PALERMO**

_“Get away from me,” Palermo spat, flinching when he felt Hugo’s hand on his face, holding him by his jaw._

_“And waste our time? I don’t think so.” He heard a dull thud sound and moments later registered that he’d been thrown against the wall. He felt a warmth spread over the back of his head._

_“Sh*t.” Pablo swore. Hugo barked out a laugh._

_“You’re a weak little faggot, aren’t you?” Footsteps. Palermo was pulled up by the hem of his shirt, so he was pressed right between the wall and Hugo, who kept him up with a knee in the stomach._

_Again, Hugo raised a hand to his face, pulling him by the chin and making him look right into his maniacal eyes, shining with a sickening promise. Hugo pulled his knee away, making Palermo collapse to the floor. “A pathetic piece of sh*t.” a kick to his stomach, “maricon,” Palermo felt another kick, this time to his ribs. A sickening crack rang out._

_As more and more kicks landed, Palermo felt himself breaking, with every snap and crack, he felt a little part of him ache more and more. When he decided he’d finished, Hugo crouched by his face, shark’s smile and predatory glint in his eyes. “_

_Aren’t you a pretty little thing, all bleeding and broken across the floor?” Face only centimetres away from his own, Hugo cupped Palermo’s cheek. “and completely at my mercy.”_

_“You’re a sick bastard, hijo de puta,” Palermo spat, reeling from Hugo’s touch. He fought the grimace as he felt his crushed ribs scream against his movement. Hugo barked out a laugh, and Palermo felt his blood run with a new fury. Jerking his head up, he gathered what little moisture he could from his parched mouth –undoubtedly the blood that had risen from Hugo’s earlier kickabout- and spat in Hugo’s face._

_The reaction was instantaneous._

_Hugo pulled him up, turning him around and roughly pushing him into the wall, the side of his face pressed painfully into the wall. He heard the unmistakable noise of a belt unbuckling and knew immediately what was about to happen._

_He struggled, as hard as he could, writhing and twisting, pulling and pushing, trying anything and everything to get out of Hugo’s hold. But it was all to no avail. Palermo had not been fed nearly enough, nor slept since he’d been imprisoned, and he was working against two heavily trained and well-fed men holding him down._

_His choked sobs and Hugo’s grunts were soon the only thing that could be heard in the room._

***

**BERLIN**

Andres woke with a start as he heard sobs mixed with screams from beside him. Shooting up, he looked to Martin, expecting to see him sleeping peacefully, but instead finding him sobbing in his sleep, chocked screams and whimpers of ‘let me go’ and ‘get away from me’ escaping his beloved's lips.

“Martin?” he shook Martin’s arm, searching his face for signs of consciousness. “Martin!” he pulled Martin up, trying to shake him out of whatever terrible place his dreams were taking him. With a gasp, Martin’s eyes flew open. Then, with a surprising strength, he struggled out of Andres’ hold darting away and grabbing a pen from the desk beside him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarled, holding the elegant fountain pen as though it were a dagger. Andres put his hands out beside him, splaying his fingers apart.

“Martin,” he spoke slowly, waiting for Martin to fully wake up, “It’s me. It’s Andres. It was just a dream. You’re safe.” Martin’s rapid and uneven breaths slowed.

“Andres?” Martin whispered, suddenly sounding small and lost.

Andres nodded, giving him a small smile. That, apparently, was all it took to have Martin crumpled on the floor, burying his face into his arms with sobs racking through him. In a flash, Andres was beside him, bringing Martin up and holding him to his chest. He felt Martin’s hands curl into his jumpsuit, holding him in a white-knuckled grip, as though Andres would disappear the second he loosened his hold.

Andres curled his arm right around Martin rubbing soothing circles into his back and waiting for Martin’s sobbing to subside and his breathing to even out.

“It was just a dream,” he whispered, “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” Andres looked down at Martin, feeling a surge of agony that he could do nothing but wait for the fear to dissipate. Martin’s trembling hands held on to Andres’ jumpsuit like they were a lifeline, burying his head into Andres’ open arms. After what seemed like hours, but was likely only minutes, Martin’s breathing evened out.

“Andres?” Martin breathed, voice raspy, still clinging to Andres jumpsuit. Andres moved his head from where he’d buried it in Martin’s hair to smile at him.

“ _Si, querido?_ ” Martin swallowed heavily before pulling out of Andres’ hold to face him.

“I’m sorry…” Andres felt his heart clench at Martin’s words. He cupped Martin’s face gently, turning his face so that they were looking at each other.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, Martin flinched.

“Listen, Martin, you have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve been through hell and back, and I am here for you, do you understand? I’m never leaving your side, never again. Martin, _mi amor_ , I will stay by your side forever. And when you go where I can’t follow, know I will be right there when you return.” Andres was staring intently into Martin’s eyes, doing everything he could to make sure that Martin understood what he said. He felt his beloved relax, as he melted into his hold once more.

“I love you Andres,” Martin whispered, and Andres could hear the quiver in his voice.

“I know,” Andres squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, “I love you too.”

They settled back into silence, content with simply existing in each other’s hold. A sharp knock sounded on the door.

“I forgot we were in the Bank,” Martin groaned, getting up and stretching, splaying his arms out beside him comically as he yawned.

Nairobi's voice came from the other side

"Guys. We have a fucking problem."

**NAIROBI**

**_~ Earlier ~_ **

“ _Si,_ Professor.” Nairobi nodded as she picked up the phone, knowing that the Professor could see her.

“Do you know where the bug is?” the Professor questioned, wasting no time. Nairobi grimaced

“Somewhere in the crook of his elbow. Sick fuckers put it right by an artery, so we’ll have to be careful.” She heard the Professor hum, then mutter something to Lisbon.

“Are you certain it’s a bug?” the Professor asked. Nairobi frowned, mind racing as she tried to think of what else it could be.

“What do you mean?” she heard the Professor sigh, and she could just about imagine him flicking up their glasses.

“It could be a poison, a dissolving arsenic pill, it’ll f*ck up his mind if it enters his blood stream”

“Shit”

“Where are they now?” Nairobi bit on her fingernails

“Resting-” She began

“Go get them, set everything up, it needs to get out as soon as possible.” With that, the Professor hung up, and Nairobi could hear his words ringing in his ears. She shot out of the room and raced down to the room Berlin and Palermo were resting in.

They needed to get whatever the fuck was inside Palermo out _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skjsksj sorry guys it's been ages... i have no excuse, i just had no idea where to take it, but i think i know how im going to further the story (for the next chapter at least)  
> aha its just that i know how i want the story to end  
> and i have a few scenes that i want in the fic  
> but i also dont want to rush it
> 
> anyway, what did y'all think... leave a comment maybe? 
> 
> love you all 😘😘😘💖💖💖
> 
> and i have someone i need to introduce to you  
> 🐨  
> this is dave  
> some of you may already know him  
> dave is the emotional support koala  
> dave is here to say that he loves you  
> dave values you  
> dave is here for you


	18. Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who we all forgot about (as well as yours truly)?  
> denver and rio going to get gandia  
> i cant just let andres and martin be happy, apparently

**DENVER**

_Oh f*ck_

That was all that was running through Denver’s head as he returned to where he and Rio had left the guards, tied up with the governor, only to find Gandia missing.

“Sh*t” Rio whispered. Denver’s eyes darted from each of the other guards, mouths duck-taped shut, hands held together with the surprisingly strong tape they’d found. He looked to the governor, the only one who seemed to not have too much of a problem being tied up. “He’s out.” Rio muttered. At his words, both he and Denver drew their guns, Rio turning around to face the door and Denver facing the bathroom stall.

“Rio.” Denver began, “Downstairs. Helsinki.” The two words were enough for Rio, who moved to the door and promptly made his exit. Denver soon heard his footsteps echoing down the hall.

He turned to the guards and the governor. “Hey,” he began, “I’m really sorry about all this. We don’t really want anything, our friend was being tortured so here we are now. All we want is to get out alive, we won’t harm anyone unless we have to. Don’t make us the bad guys. We just needed to help a friend. Your co-worker? Gandia? He doesn’t give a sh*t. he’s a stickler for the rules. But he’s not human.” Denver swallowed, allowing his words to sink in, “how can he be, if he doesn’t understand the most basic feelings, to love, to care for a comrade in arms. He is out there, and he will kill. We’ll catch him, but we don’t want anyone getting hurt. In a shootout, there’s a high risk of a hostage being shot. We saw that in the last heist. We don’t want to see it again.” Denver stopped to swallow slightly, “I’m not asking for you to do anything. All I’m asking is for you to stand up and come with me. We’ll take you to sit with the hostages, we’ll take care of you, I just need your word that you won’t do anything stupid. If not for me, then for my friend. His only crime was falling in love.”

So Denver might have pushed it a little there. Palermo was a criminal, and a brilliant one at that. Truth be told, he had been quite oblivious to the whole Palermo-Berlin thing as a whole, but even he had to admit that a lot of things made sense, and he didn’t want that all ruined. He also wanted to make it out alive.

So f*ck the truth, he has a wife and a son he needs to think about. He smirked suddenly

“Also his boyfriend is pretty f*cking scary. So maybe just come with me?” he helped up the guards, who all seemed rather docile after his speech. Denver was quite proud of himself. He could just imagine Monica smiling and laughing with him, once the whole thing was over.

He started leading the guards and the governor down, starting the long route to where they were keeping the hostages.

*******

**RIO**

Rio bolted down the stairs, thankful for his small frame, throwing a glance over his shoulder every now and again to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by Gandia.

The notion that the assassin was wondering the halls, no doubt armed, was not one he was willing to entertain. He slid down the railing, feeling his gun nudge against his side.

He froze once he reached the bottom of the balustrade that looped into the opening of the library.

Standing right in front of him, gun at the ready, was Gandia.

*******

**HELSINKI**

Helsinki was in a very good mood. Palermo was back, and he was safe.

Quite happy as well, if he could recall the honeymoon-esque gaze he’d held with Berlin. He was happy for Palermo, he deserved a bit of happiness after everything he’d been through

Helsinki heard gun shots, and instantly, the serenity he’d been feeling mere seconds ago vanished. It sounded like it came from the next room over, the one that overlooked the open space by the library. Looking to Stockholm, Helsinki motioned for her to stay, cocking his own gun and taking precautionary steps towards the door.

From the railing he looked out to the large room below, making out forms, and, as he got closer, he identified Rio, being held at gunpoint by Gandia, with a smoking hole in the floor by his feet. The poor thing was shivering from head to toe, no doubt trying to get a hold of himself.

Helsinki turned to look to Stockholm, to give her a message, before realising Berlin was now in the room.

“Helsin-“ Helsinki cut him off with a sharp hand gesture, now was not the time. Realising what was happening, Berlin’s features darkened. Wordlessly, he cocked his gun and made his way to stand by Helsinki, and together, they slowly entered the room, coming to a stop at the railing.

*******

**DENVER**

As he lead the guards down the hall and to the room the team had agreed on keeping them in, Denver heard a gunshot.

His first instinct was to rush to wherever the gunshot came from and make sure everyone was okay –if he was more worried for Monica, then sue him, he was married for god’s sake-. The once-calm guards now looked around, wide-eyed, trying to pull out of their binds.

“Everybody calm down, please.” Denver ordered, voice firm. The uneasy silence stretched over them as Denver lead them into the library, taking them through to the agreed upon room.

He froze as they entered, his eyes meeting Rio’s as they walked in on Gandia, gun drawn and aimed at his friend’s head, Berlin and Helsinki standing above them. “Sh*t” was all he managed before the guards turned on him, the tape suddenly giving out causing the guards to go hurrying over to stand by their colleague, resulting in guns pointing in every direction. Only the governor remained where he was, watching the whole ordeal with mild amusement.

Denver would deal with him later.

For now, he had to make sure it didn’t all go to sh*t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my my what a productive day  
> i wrote a short angst fic  
> i updated my long fic  
> and i've almost finished a fluff fic (another google search prompt)
> 
> i havent been able to write a lot recently because i've been caught up in celebrations and stuff  
> eid mubarak to you all (if you don't know what it is, just think about it like Christmas but actually in winter (or summer if you're in europe ig))
> 
> anyway, i think we all know where this is going, i've written half of the next chapter, but who knows when I'm going to get around to posting it  
> holy crap vic is in a state of disaster that's scary 😬😣
> 
> as always, comments and kudos hold a special place in my heart, any feedback is treasured and held to a higher standard than gold, update should be coming soon 🤞  
> anyway, love you all, eid mubarak and stay safe 💖💖💖


	19. And It All Crashes Down

**TOKYO**

Tokyo surveyed the basement.

It was, as she decided, amazing.

Amazing what the asshole she knew as Palermo could dream up. What he could do

“well,” she reasoned, “it did take him 10 years” she snickered, thinking back to the love struck puppy-eyes Berlin had with Palermo.

It was a strange affair.

Love was said to be unconditional. To be a saving grace to anyone and everyone. To give meaning, beauty, life to everything that it touched.

So it was strange to her that Berlin should be graced with it so many times.

5 times, the asshole had been married

5 women he’d wooed and charmed, dated and eventually wed

And now Palermo?

Love had certainly been kind to Berlin.

In a weird way, she hoped it would be kind to Palermo. She shook her head slightly. Looking to Bogota, she asked

“How long have Berlin and Palermo known each other?” Bogota answered with a short laugh

“You finally figured out? I still can’t believe they did an 11 day heist with all of you, and you couldn’t tell they were together. Seriously, you should’ve seen them in the monastery, it was traumatizing.” Shaking his head at the memories, he looked at her again, “Why?” she shrugged

“Just wondering. Palermo’s back, by the way.”

“What?! why are you just telling me!? I cant believe I missed this Marseille’s going to kill me he said something abou-“

“Bogota. How long have they known each other?” Bogota clicked his tongue impatiently

“10 years, more or less, but I swear, they’d only actually been together, officially, for like 3 months.”

“Huh,” Bogota cracked a huge grin

“You wouldn’t know it the way they acted though. Marti-Palermo would always do up Berlin’s tie and Berlin was no better. He’d always find some excuse to be touching Palermo, standing behind him and then putting his hand on his shoulder, or grab Palermo’s hand in excitement. I just can’t believe it took them 10 f*cking years.” Suddenly, Bogota’s grin dropped, “I should not have told you that… like… any of it….”

She jumped as she heard gunshots. Bogota met her eyes, the concern already clear on his. She cocked her gun, giving him a lopsided smirk.

“I’ve got it.”

*******

**_~Earlier~_ **

**BERLIN**

“Guys. We have a fucking problem” Nairobi’s words sounded through the door.

Andres felt Martin freeze beside him, and he rushed to the door, swinging it open to meet Nairobi standing, wide-eyed yet determined, arm raised mid-knock. “Berlin,” she acknowledged, before stepping aside to look to Martin, now standing beside Andres, “Palermo, this is about the bug.”

“I thought the whole point of not talking about the bug was to-“ Martin began, voice somewhat hoarse from sleep, only to be cut off by the now frantic Nairobi

“Are you sure it’s a bug?” she asked, motioning for Martin to hand her his arm. He did so, looking to Andres for clarification. Andres could only shrug and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, grounding him. “Palermo.” Nairobi’s voice cut through again.

“I-I well, what else could it be? I thought it was strange that Alicia put it in while I was conscious but the Professor had said-“ Nairobi cut him off again.

“Berlin?” Andres looked away from Martin, snapping his attention to Nairobi once more “Go down to the hostages and get Helsinki and Stockholm to set out the surgical equipment, get Denver and Rio to take over with the hostages, the gold can wait, this is important.” She didn’t wait for a reply as she started down the hall, calling for Martin to follow her. Andres looked to Martin, who gave him a firm nod and a quick half smile before disappearing down the hall with Nairobi.

He shook his head, rushing to the stairs to get to Helsinki.

Martin was in trouble, and there was no way in hell he would slip through his fingers again.

*******

As he entered the hall, he heard gunshots. If he didn’t act fast, Martin wouldn’t be the only thing to slip through his fingers today.

He made his way to Helsinki, whose gun was drawn. Wordlessly, the approached the railing, overlooking the open space by the library

*******

**_~Now~_ **

He saw Martin and Nairobi enter from the opposite entrance. A horrible thrill ran up his spine, chilling him quite literally from head to toe. He wanted to shout at Nairobi, at Martin, to tell them to get out, that it wasn’t safe.

Andres saw Gandia’s gaze flick to Martin, and he knew he could no longer wait for the inevitable.

“Gandia!” While he didn’t quite shout, he didn’t say it either. Caught between two sides of the scale, it reverberated through the open space, commanding and dark, while also laced with the desperation of grabbing the assassin’s attention –anything to keep it away from Martin-.

He saw Gandia’s eyes flick up and to the side, where he was standing, poised and ready to shoot. A raspy chuckle sounded, and it took Andres a moment to realise it was indeed Gandia laughing.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me? I don’t think so, _hijo de puta_ ” Andres clicked his tongue,

“Don’t bet on it. Now, I don’t care if you have some sort of fucking hero complex or what, but you are holding one of our own at gunpoint. You have 4 colleagues with you,” Andres paused, looking around the room and keeping a mental checklist. Tokyo had just arrived to stand opposite Denver on the first floor, while Helsinki was beside him, Nairobi and finally Martin opposite him, “and there are 6 of us. Use your god damn head and do the math. It’s not worth it, and the likelihood you’ll get what you want isn’t even feasible.” Helsinki shifted beside him, eyes trained on the guards pointing their guns in each direction. “Think about all you have to lose. And then consider this very situation. Your mind will slowly coax you out of your adrenaline high. You will start to see the possibilities.” His voice darkened, “and you will put your fucking guns down.”

“vale… vale…” the whispered assent was the queue the guards needed, all slowly lowering their guns. Andres let out a sigh of relief, gaze flicking to Martin, who wore the same relieved expression that was sure covered his own face.

Their shared relief was short-lived.

  
_Things fall apart quicker than they build together._

_Years can amount to nothing in mere seconds_

_The light of hope can vanish in even the lightest shadows of doubt_

_A life can end in a second_

_All it takes is a moment_

_A twitch of a finger_

_And it all crashes down_

  
Andres saw everything in slow motion

Gandia turning

Taking aim

Pulling the trigger

Denver crashed into Gandia, side-on, throwing off the aim

The glass exploded

And Martin disappeared

Andres saw all this, and yet he saw nothing

  
Because Martin was down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BAAACK  
> guess who forgot that tokyo existed???  
> THIS BTCH RIGHT HERE 🤣🤙
> 
> ok so gandia exists too  
> and i had bogota spill a whole lot to tokyo and then pull a hagrid  
> in all honesty i dont think i've read this through enough, but fk it, i tried 😅  
> also can i just say i love how active the fandom's been today, like, i've read 6 different new works in the past 12 hours, and i fkn love that
> 
> love you all, stay safe and wash your hands 💖💕🌈✨😘


	20. Doubled Over, Bending Backwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a somewhat longer chapter for you guys as an apology for being away for so long 💖💖💖
> 
> enjoy! 
> 
> not sure if this is even valid at this point BUT  
> TWs for blood, surgery (kinda), descriptions of pain and shooting

**_~before the shootout~_ **

**PALERMO**

Martin felt his whole body seize up, tense and alert. The gunshots rang again, and he looked to Nairobi. A moment full of electricity passed between them, and in an instant they were pressed, shoulder-to-shoulder, guns drawn and entering the room that had emitted the noise.

As they walked in, Martin felt that he was stepping into a pond, as the tension was so thick. It suffocated him, settling in his lungs and pushing out the oxygen, leaving only space for more of the heavy apprehension filling the air. His eyes darted around the room, taking in everything. He saw Andres and Helsinki, standing together by the opposite entrance, Denver and Tokyo standing to Gandia’s side with guards all around him, and Gandia, standing side-on, gun drawn, pointing straight at Rio. His maniac grin was visible even from where Martin was standing.

Martin felt his breath catch in his throat. What the fuck was Andres doing? He was playing with Gandia as though he were a school-yard bully in need of a telling-off, not a psychopath with a loaded gun.

“Don’t bet on it. Now, I don’t care if you have some sort of fucking hero complex or what, but you are holding one of our own at gunpoint. You have 4 colleagues with you,”

Andres' words echoed through the huge space, bouncing off the marble walls and rebounding around him. the quiet darkness in Andres' voice left a chill running up and down his spine. He felt his heart rate pick up, past experiences telling him to be wary.

As his heart rate increased, he felt a strange stinging-itch coming from the crook of his elbow. "It can be dealt with later" he thought, as he grimaced and refocused on his boyfriend's voice.

“and there are 6 of us. Use your fucking head and do the math. It’s not worth it, and the likelihood you’ll get what you want isn’t even feasible. Think about all you have to lose. And then consider this very situation. Your mind will slowly coax you out of your adrenaline high. You will start to see the possibilities… And you will put your fucking guns down.”

The guards wavered, and Martin held his breath, feeling his heart rate picking up again, and the fizzing sensation return. If someone so much as coughed, everything would come crashing down around them. He saw Gandia lowering his gun, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“ _vale… vale…_ ” that was all it took, apparently, to have the guards finally lowering their guns. He watched as the rest of the team relaxed, Helsinki standing straight again, Denver holding out his hands, Tokyo rolling her shoulder, and Nairobi, who simply swung her gun down. He looked up to meet Andres' eyes, only to catch Gandia spinning on his foot, gun raised.

He shot

Denver tackled him

And the glass vase beside him exploded

***

**_~Now~_ **

Pain

Searing pain

Everywhere,

Filling his eyes, burning his face, slashing at whatever it was that was hurting

It was like something he'd never experienced

He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but he felt the glass jab him harder when he did. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn't see past the unnatural fog

He could faintly feel his heart beat

He could faintly hear screams

But the pain?

The pain was intense, never fading. The moment Martin thought he was getting used to it, the pure agony would resurface.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

He thought he was used to pain.

He was wrong.

Martin desperately wanted to cry out, to scream, to shout, anything to communicate the volumes of pure agony ripping though him

But he couldn't. it was as though a part of him believed he was still in the same murky room where it had all happened. As if making a sound would only lead to something worse. He knew he needed to call out, to shout, or at least try to focus his vision, but he couldn't.

His pained gasps would have to do for now.

***

**BERLIN**

Andres almost doubled over in pain. Pain, searing pain, scorched his vision.

It was blinding.

_Blind_ thought Andres, as he felt his arm being to throb, as though it were fizzling from the inside out.

_Martin_

Through the haze the pain was inducing, his somewhat blurry vision allowed him to faintly make out Denver and Rio handling the guards along with Gandia (Andres was pleased to see Denver was being not-so-gentle with the bastard), while Tokyo, Helsinki and Nairobi were by Martin’s side.

Now was not the time for this.

Moving past the pain (the searing, burning pain), blinking through the haze (the suffocating smoke that tinged his vision), Andres rushed to Martin (his soulmate, his love). He was by him in an instant, working through the pain and the scorched vision of his. He looked to Nairobi,

“Nairobi.” He gasped, trying and failing to find his voice, “we need to get Martin on a table. The glass needs to get out” his elbow fizzled, almost angrily, as though it had been forgotten, “and there’s something in Martin’s arm- shit, fuck, it hurts. You need to get it out.” He barely registered Nairobi’s quizzical look, turning instead to Helsinki, “Go get a first aid kit, surgical equipment, and a light, then take it to the governor’s office, it’s the closest here.” Helsinki left, running to wherever the fuck they’d kept the medical equipment. “Tokyo. Get something that has wheels.” Looking like she wanted to protest, Andres cut across her, “Just fucking go,” he snapped, and to his surprise, she did.

“Holy shit.” He heard Nairobi mutter, “Berlin, are you alright?” Andres swiped at the invisible pain again, rubbing against his eyes

“Fine.” He growled, just as a new wave of pain crashed over him. Martin whimpered quietly, still squirming on the floor,

“Fuck,” he wheezed from the ground, “That hurts like a bitch.” Andres put his hand on top of Martin’s, trying to calm him, 

“I know, _mi amor_ , just another moment or two, we’ll have the glass out. Just be patient.” As though summoned by his words, Tokyo appeared with a cart, explaining that Helsinki had set up the office and that it was ready for Palermo’s operation.

Andres and Nairobi hoisted Palermo on to the cart, with Tokyo moving off to clear the hallways of hostages.

“Out of the way! Move! Let’s go!” her shouts echoed down the hallway, the only real indicator to Andres that she’d truly left.

He looked to Nairobi, and as one, they pushed Martin down the hall, to the governor’s office, Nairobi focused on steering, with Andres pushing and muttering quiet comforts to Martin, who was writhing from his spot on the table, managing to gasp a few curses whenever the pain was renewed.

"It's ok, _corazon_ , it's ok, we'll have it out soon, and whatever's inside your arm. It's ok, I'm here, don't worry," Andres murmured, putting a hand on Martin's shoulder, assuring him of his presence, "We'll get it out, Martin, just breathe, you'll be fine." almost as an afterthought, he added a quiet, "I promised."

*******

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi’s gaze darted from Palermo to Berlin to the hall she was currently steering them all down. Palermo seemed to be taking the pain as one would expect (if not somewhat quieter, but perhaps he was used to suffering silently). What worried her in the moment was Berlin. He seemed to be experiencing some level of pain as well. When Palermo shuddered, Berlin shuddered with him. When Berlin pulled a slight grimace, Palermo would gasp with pain.

It was unnerving.

“Turn here.” Berlin commanded, snapping her back to the present. She pushed them into a large office, guiding the cart to where Helsinki had set up a lamp and obvious working space.

“Palermo, we are going to take out the glass now,” Helsinki calmly explained, handing Nairobi a syringe filled with morphine. She pressed it to his arm, “Nairobi is injecting you with morphine, to help with the pain,” as Nairobi injected the morphine, Helsinki brought the tweezers to Palermo’s face, “I’m going to remove the glass. It will still hurt, but not as much thanks to the painkiller. It will be hard, but try not to close your eyes.” With that, Helsinki carefully began to remove a piece.

Nairobi watched with a mixture of fascination and horror as it slowly came unstuck, coils of blood -thickened with whatever it was that were in your eyes- connected the last glassy hook of the piece. When Helsinki finally managed to get it out, Palermo stamped his foot against the cart, face twisted in pain, arms grabbing at the sides.

“ _Puta madre_ ” Palermo swore, clenching his jaw as he fought to regain control of himself. Beside her, she saw Berlin reach out and put a hand over Palermo’s arm. The reaction was –although minute- clear. Palermo’s jaw unclenched, and he allowed his leg to drop back down. Helsinki resumed his work at his nod.

When Helsinki removed the next piece, Berlin’s hand clutched Palermo’s in a white knuckled grip, taking a sharp breath and tensing beside Nairobi. He was clearly in pain, and Nairobi briefly wondered if it was a psychosomatic reaction, if Berlin was just squeamish, or if there was something else at play.

The process repeated, over and over, the group eventually settling into a rhythm. Helsinki would almost remove the piece, waiting until the last small glassy clasp and pause, giving Palermo a moment to prepare himself. Then, Berlin would give Palermo's hand a small squeeze, and Helsinki would continue. Once removed, Nairobi would dispose of the piece, and they’d give Palermo (and seemingly Berlin) a moment to overcome the worst of the pain.

“That’s the last of the glass.” Helsinki announced, turning off the light. She and Helsinki stepped away, allowing Berlin and Palermo a moment.

Finally, their work was done.

Palermo’s eyes were bloody, they would definitely need bandaging, and Nairobi was certain he’d carry some of the scars for the rest of his life, but other than that, their job seemed to be finished.

Quiet muttering that did not quite reach her ears was all that could be heard, and eventually even that died down. Soon, all that was left was quiet breathing, until Berlin got up.

“He's asleep. Now, we have some work to do, no?” Berlin straightened his jumpsuit, beginning to unroll his sleeves and pull them down, when he froze. He seemed to be grimacing.

“Are you alright, Berlin?” Nairobi asked, worried for her friend. The voice that replied was not quite Berlin’s. It was hoarse, cracked with the strain of intense agony.

“There’s something in my-his arm.” He groaned softly, masking it with a cough. It was enough to spur Nairobi back into action, leading Helsinki back to the table.

“Where?” she demanded. Questions could wait. If what the Professor said was true, there was more than an eye at risk.

Palermo could die.

And by fuck, she was not going to let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~ SuSpEnSe~~~  
> you know this fic was all about their soulmate bond? yea, i forgot too. so pow there we go we're back to andres feeling martin's pain, but now in REAL TIME 😱
> 
> Love you all, thank you for reading and getting this far, we made it to 20 chapters and I think that that's amazing  
> Stay safe guys 💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰💝💝💝🤩🤩🤩✨✨✨🥺🥺😘😘😘


	21. Plan Geneva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for drugs and PTSD

**ALICIA**

“The whole world will think the Spanish police is a fucking joke!” Tamayo roared. 

Alicia only leaned back in her chair, rolling her neck as she waited for him to stop pacing and calm down, “Negotiating with  _ terrorists _ !” He put a hand over his mouth, angrily rubbing at his mouth as though it would calm him, “Are you out of your goddamn mind, woman?” he seethed, his burning gaze falling to Alicia’s own -much calmer- one.

“Maybe. But it’s what you need.” 

As Tamayo opened his mouth to start ranting again, Alicia stood up, putting a single hand on one of her hips and raised her eyebrows. She was taunting him, showing him how ridiculous he was being.

“Fine. The fuck do you want then? They ask for pizza again and we break in? Remember we already did that! There’s a reason we don’t-”

“Shut up for a moment and listen,” Alicia snapped, “I did something, and you are going to thank me for it.” She smirked as his eyes narrowed. 

His expression resembled that of a stuck pig, 

“LSD. What do you know about it,  _Colonel_?”, she didn’t wait for him before she continued, “Thallium, arsenic, LSD and a well-placed microphone. All it takes is a moment. Our dear boy sees a couple of flashing lights or hears something a little too loud without expecting it, everything goes to hell.” Alicia refocused on Tamayo, pleased to finally see his own imitation of a knowing grin split his features.

“You bitch.”

*******

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi looked to Berlin, who gave her a silent nod of conformation, slowly, Nairobi tore the skin, following along the faint line left by the police. She felt disgust rise from deep within her as she eyed the small white pill the Professor told her about. How could the police be so cruel? She had no doubt in her mind that it was some sort of poison, hell, it could even be a cocktail of different drugs and psychedelics.

The pill seemed to vibrate for a second, and as Nairobi focused in on it, she noticed that it lay directly across Palermo's veins. Occasionally, a small hissing would sound, and Nairobi prayed that it wasn’t too late. She pushed at the flesh, giving the pill a somewhat wider berth outside of its pocket so that she could remove it cleanly.

She froze as Palermo's mouth twitched, his nose scrunching for a brief moment in the unconscious imitation of a grimace.

"I put sedative and more pain killer," Helsinki murmured, moving off to the bench closest to the wall. He returned with a syringe, silently injecting Palermo so that he would sleep through the ordeal. She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath before she refocused.

Grabbing the pill with the tweezers and lifting it out gently, horror dawned on Nairobi as she realised that part of the pill had already dissolved, the white powder turned into a thick sludge against what was visible of Palermo's artery.

She looked to Helsinki, silently begging for help, for guidance, for anything, but he only closed his eyes in a moment of defeat. It dawned on Nairobi that there was nothing they could do about whatever had already made its way into Palermo's bloodstream. 

After all, this wasn’t a regular mess to be wiped up with a tea towel.

"Holy shit." she muttered. She heard a sharp breath being taken by her side and momentarily looked to Berlin. His expression, stony as usual, did not reveal anything. But Nairobi knew where to look.

His hands were tensed by his sides, knuckles white from the grip they had on the edge of the table. His shoulders were pushed down, rigid in their pseudo calm. 

Most worrying of all, his eyes burned with emotion. Shock, rage, disgust, and a slow realisation all showed in the dark irises of the man standing opposite her. Most disturbing of all, was the slight -near imperceptible- tremble of his lips. The momentary break Nairobi knew to look for.

She shook her head, returning to the task -quite literally- at hand. 

Psychoanalyzing Berlin could wait until after she'd finished.

This was more important.

Palermo was more important.

*******

**_ ~ **Meanwhile** ~ _ **

**THE PROFESSOR/LISBON**

“Sergio, Palermo's been shot." Raquel's voice barely broke through to Sergio, barely made him tear his gaze from the screen.

"Right… let's hope they know what to do…", he reached over to the phone, before pulling back and looking to Raquel: "Raquel. What about the pill?" 

He almost cowered as Raquel's gaze leapt to him.

"What do you mean?"

"W-Well, did they ever… you know, talk about-"

"Torture? No. believe it or not, Sergio, cops aren't taught how to torture people under normal circumstances."

"I know, Raquel. Just- did they ever bring up any hypotheticals? Or explain what certain drugs would do, or-"

"Yeah, actually.", Raquel stepped back, taking a notebook out from seemingly nowhere, "This one time, a teacher at the academy was talking about forensics, and he went on a long rant about times the police had used drugs to get what they wanted out of people." She clicked the pen, looking away from Sergio, to the page she'd opened, "There was LSD, developed by the CIA as a mind-controlling drug. They failed, but it could still be used to cause heavy hallucinations. Arsenic is unlikely, a little might cause some brain damage, some memory loss, it wouldn't be useful to them if he forgot everything but by the time they'd put something in him they would've known he was leaving.", she paused, looking up at Sergio: "Thallium. It would affect his nervous system, as well as lungs, kidneys, the heart. Then, there's always the PTSD to consider…" Raquel cut herself off, looking back at Sergio. 

"LSD… it causes episodes, hallucinations. You don’t think-" 

"Maybe a dissolvent? That's how it would get into his bloodstream, even if the whole thing doesn’t make it, all it takes is a little to trigger a trip. Especially since Palermo's probably unstable from-"   
"It's a bug." Sergio muttered as it all began to slowly click into place

"What?"

"Just not what we expected… Raquel, it's an alert, a buzzer, a transmission. They're planning an attack… and want to know what to deal with. That was expectable. But why the poison, or drug or whatever? A virus, maybe? The Mongols used the Black Plague as a weapon against Europe.”

“Don’t be silly. Even for Alicia, this plan is way too risky and literally medieval. No, they want something different.”

Suddenly it dawned on Sergio. It was diabolical. It was against every law he knew. It was almost scarily clever. He flicked up his glasses:

“Martin isn't the target… he's the distraction"

“No”, Raquel shook her head in pure disbelief, “No, no that just can’t be true. No one, not even Alicia or Tamayo are cruel enough for-for  _ that _ ...”

“They tortured Palermo, held him captive for months without a trial. They broke so many rules, why bother to stick to them anymore? Are you ready?”, Sergio asked. 

Lisbon closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine Alicia. 

She saw her, as the young woman from the Academy, not as the pregnant torturer that she saw on TV. Once they had been friends, once they had been extremely close. Was Alicia able to turn a living breathing human-being into a pure tool of her plans? Deep down she knew: Yes, she was.

Raquel opened her eyes again. Her thoughts were as clear as freshly polished glass.

“Yes, completely. We initiate Plan Geneva, right?”

“Exactly. There is only one problem. Andrés is emotionally involved. The second he hears that Palermo is in trouble, he will move heaven and hell to protect him. I will have to convince him to play his part. This will be…”

“Let me do it.”

“Raquel, you don’t know…”

“Oh, I know. I was one of Spain’s best hostage-scenario negotiators. You call Alicia, to gather as much information as possible. I warn our team.”

Sergio hesitated. He knew his brother could be difficult. But on the other hand… 

“Okay. Make sure the connection is one hundred percent secured. They can’t know anything.”

Raquel nodded. Sergio kissed her, before he flicked up his glasses and adjusted his tie:

“So, into battle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plan Geneva, are you guys excited? i know i am 🤩😆
> 
> ok so im going to use this space to thank @Schattenecho, you are amazing and the best beta/co-writer anyone could ever have, this chapter would not have been nearly this amazing without you, and I can't wait to keep writing this fic with you 💖🥺  
> everyone go give them love, they've written amazing fics that will make you cry and laugh all the while teaching you about everything from the wonders of Vienna to the wrath of the Argentine military.


	22. Flamenco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for: descriptions of pain, swearing and slight mentions of PTSD i guess
> 
> i really need to learn how to do these warnings 😅🤦♀️
> 
> just stay safe guys 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

**PALERMO**

Pain, it seemed, was like an alarm clock.

You could try to ignore it, to steal a few more seconds of peace, but eventually, it becomes too much to bear. 

Martin could feel the steady beating of his heart, pushing the blood through him. He felt each of his pulse points throb with every second, as though he were being pulled awake from the inside out. He felt himself wake up more, and he slowly opened one eye.

That’s strange.

He felt a strange fear take over his heart as the darkness didn’t give. Were Pablo and Hugo just trying out some new drugs? Had everything he’d told Andres really just Alicia? Had he finally failed?

Had he finally let down Andres?

At this thought, desperation flooded through him. Had it all been for nothing? Would they do the same to Andres once they’d found him? 

He tried blinking a few times, before realising that he was winking. He tentatively opened the second eye.

Ah. There it was.

Light flooded his gaze, the strange herringbone tiles of the Bank’s ceiling barely visible, but clear enough to be identifiable.

“Martin?” That voice. So close. Who was it? Why did his voice send shivers up his spine? Why couldn’t he see the person? They sounded close enough- “Martin? Are you awake?  _ Carino _ ?” warmth burst in his chest.

_ Andres _

“I-yea, i’m up,” Martin tilted his head up, suddenly met with Andres’ intense gaze. Despite himself, Martin flinched. He hadn’t seen Andres, but he was so close. He shook his head slightly. “What happened?” he croaked, again turning his head to look into Andres’ eyes.

_ Why did something feel missing? _

“You got shot,  _ querido _ .” Andres frowned, “Don’t you remember?” Martin took a shaky breath. It was coming back to him in flashes.

“I-I remember going somewhere with Nairobi… Then you were with that security guard-” Martin stopped talking as it suddenly became crystal clear. “That fucker!” he scrambled in his bed, trying to get up, fully intent on beating the  _ hijo de puta’s  _ head in, when suddenly the vertigo and the pain hit him. Whether it was his mind fucking with him or if he’d managed to wriggle off the bed, Martin would never know, as suddenly he was in Andres’ arms. 

He groaned, moving his head so that the back of it was resting against Andres’ shoulder.

“Is he up?” Nairobi walked in again, arms full of bandages. Behind her, Helsinki was fiddling with one of the hostage masks. Martin felt Andres lower him back onto the bed, and he nearly whined at the loss of touch. He decided instead on grumbling lowly.

“I’d say that he is, yes.”

“Alright good. Palermo?” Martin felt the whole room’s attention fixate on him. He flexed his jaw lightly (a quirk Andres had always pretended to hate), trying to pinpoint exactly where he should be looking to see Nairobi.

“What?” The bed shifted. Great, now he was hosting a sleepover. 

“Look at me.” Martin sucked in a sharp breath, starting to turn his head ( _ where was his peripheral sight? _ ), “No. move your eyes.” At this, he froze. He could feel his eyes moving, but his field of view wasn’t expanding. Low muttering sounded from beside him, and his head snapped around only to be met with Nairobi’s face, inches beside his.

“Holy FUCKING shit,  _ la concha de tu madre _ , don’t scare me like that!” A beat.

“Martin… she’s been there the whole time.” 

“O-Oh…” Martin nervously nibbled on his lip, feeling himself shrink slightly as his mind began filling with images of him, half blind for the rest of his life.

“Is okay.” Helsinki’s gruff voice came from the other side of the bed. “Your eye just needs time to heal, Palermo.” Heavy footsteps told him that Helsinki was moving away.

“Heal from what?” Martin was getting sick of no one telling him anything. Sure, they answered him, but they weren’t  _ telling  _ him what happened to his eyes. He heard someone sigh.

“A shard of glass lodged itself underneath your retina. Helsinki got it out, but what’s gone is gone.” Nairobi’s firm voice came from a little way behind him. Despite himself, Martin felt his heart clench. He was blind (or as good as), disabled, invalid, a  _ liability _ . He felt the hold on his hand grow stronger, and he met Andres’ gaze with a weak smile.

“Palermo?” Helsinki was beside him again, and Martin reluctantly tore his eyes -his eye- away from Andres’. The giant was holding something small and black.

“What is that?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level. Helsinki shifted on his feet.

“Your retina, like Nairobi said, was damaged. The slightest of things could damage it further. To protect it, I suggest you put on this.” With that, Helsinki handed him half a hostage mask, the seams neatly sewn together to resemble an eyepatch. Martin shook his head.

“I-no… It’s fine… I don’t need - I don’t  _ want _ to put that on.” Martin knew Helsinki meant well. He really, really did. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t wear the patch and accept that he would be blind again.

_ Never again _

Not after - well - not after  _ everything _ . He couldn’t go back to the darkness, he wouldn’t.

“Martin,  _ mi vida _ , are you oka-” Andres’ tone was soft, but Martin felt something in him shift. 

“What the fuck, Andres? I don’t want to put on the bloody mask, alright?”

“Martin-”

“No. I-I’m not. If my eyes are fucked then fine, they’re fucked. I’m not going to walk around looking like the Pirates of the mother-fucking Caribbean just for a speck of dust.” Andres gave him a perplexed look, and Martin fought the urge to sink in on himself.

“Palermo, is okay. You don’t have to.” Helsinki gave him a soft smile, taking back the mask and tossing it onto a table, “See? All gone.” Martin gave a single breathless huff of a laugh.

“If only.” He looked around the room, his new half-glare landing on a nearby mirror showcasing his blood-shot eyes, “If only”

***

**LISBON**

Turning away from Sergio and to her bench, Raquel picked up the line, tying it up as she silently prayed that Berlin would pick up quickly. All it took was a few rings, and someone came bolting in through the door.

"Professor?" Tokyo's voice rang through the receiver. A beat, as Raquel collected herself. Where was Berlin?

"Tokyo." Raquel managed to keep her voice cool, a cold detachment prevalent in the annunciation of one of the gang’s most… disillusioned members.

"Lisbon?" Tokyo's voice was openly confused, "Is everything okay? Did something happen to the Professor?" Despite herself, Raquel turned around to ensure that Sergio was, yes, still very much behind her. She took a moment to smile fondly at him, watching as he moved his hand to flick his glasses up as he confidently talked into the phone with Alicia.

“Lisbon?” Tokyo broke through Raquel’s thoughts.

"He's fine. Where’s Berlin?” She saw the miniature grainy Tokyo on the screen in front of her shake her head slightly.

“Palermo got shot, Nairobi operated on him and Berlin’s staying with them. Denver, Stockholm and Rio are handling the hostages, Bogota and the welders are working the gold… I think Helsinki helped with the operation too.” Raquel nodded along, glad to hear that at least part of the plan was going smoothly.

“We need to initiate Plan Geneva-”

“Geneva? Wha-Who?” Silence broken with the slight static lasted but a moment before a quiet, “Oh…” from the other end. Raquel cleared her throat as quietly as she could, careful not to startle Sergio as he bantered with Alicia,

“I trust you know what to do?” She watched Tokyo nod to the camera

“I’ll go get Helsinki to set up the missiles and Stockholm to start with the hostages. Everyone else will be on the defence and the welders will be working double time. We’ll be ready.” With a strange confidence, Tokyo put the phone down and Raquel watched her leave the room.

At least Tokyo wasn't something they’d have to worry about.

She put the phone down and looked back at Sergio, giving him a thumbs-up as she untied her hair.

When Alicia ordered the attack, they would be ready.

*******

**SERGIO**

“Oh, Professor, it’s a pleasure to talk to you as always. What do you want now? Do you want to ask me if I’ve ever kissed another girl? I have.” The line crackled for a moment, “Or should I send out Tamayo dancing Flamenco?”

Sergio laughed in faked amusement. He swallowed silently and exhaled slowly. He had to be completely focused right now. He didn’t hold the best cards in this game, not even the good ones. Every word he said now could ruin everything:

“As much as I like to see that little vaudeville act, I have to refuse. No, I want to talk about something else. My friend Palermo and what you did to him. I don’t have to tell you, that it is against nearly every international law for the protection of prisoners. I think you are well aware of that.”

“Oh, I certainly am.”

“You sound so strangely relaxed about breaking the Geneva Convention, Inspector Sierra.”

Sergio threw a quick glance to Raquel, who was talking silently to the radio. She hung up and showed him a thumbs-up.

“What did you give him? What is in the pill? LSD? Thallium?”

Alicia chuckled:

“Don’t you like surprises, Professor? Doesn’t every little boy like Christmas? Your childhood must have been terrible. Let’s just say… It will be enough that  _ Martinito  _ will see his mommy again. Kisses.”

And she just hung up. Sergio covered his face with his hands, not caring about his glasses. This was terrible. Everything about it. But there was no time to be desperate or to scream or to do any of the many things he wanted to do now. It was time to try to save everything and everybody he loved. It was time for full Professor-Mode:

“Raquel, is Andrés alarmed?”

“I didn’t get Andrés, it was Tokyo. I send her to alarm everybody.”

“Good, good. Tokyo... Good. She can work in these kinds of situations.”

“Sergio, what did Alicia say? Did you get anything useful?”

“No, she didn’t give away anything. I guess LSD, the way she talked about hallucinations, but I can’t be sure. All we can do now is prepare for the worst.” He watched as Raquel smirked, slowly tying her hair up again,

“Then we better start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 days later and we're back 😼😼😼😁😁😁  
> ah anyway, the next chapter is almost ready, so hopefully less of a wait for the next update, but we'll have to see...  
> lots of love to Schattenecho, u have full credit for the alicia/sergio scene, it was written beautifully and i love how you wrote alicia messing with sergio 💖💖💖💖
> 
> don't forget to leave comments and kudos if u like the fic 😁💖💞✨


	23. What Shouldn't've Been

**TOKYO**

Tokyo went down to the library, stopping at the door to get Denver, Rio and Stockholm started with the hostages.

“Denver! Stockholm!” She watched them all look up from their previous tasks, Stockholm holding the bag of sandwiches for the hostages and Denver putting down a piece of pipe he’d been threatening Gandia with. Rio looked really relieved that he hadn’t to deal with their marriage-crisis anymore. 

“Plan Geneva is in action. Stockholm, start with the bombs, Denver, make sure the hostages are in position. Nairobi will be here in a second.” 

She winked at Stockholm as Denver made a strangled sound of protest, leaving as their voices filled the marbled halls of the interconnected building.

Listening to Denver would only give her a headache anyway.

She half-ran to the governor’s office, hoping to catch Helsinki, Nairobi and Berlin all together so she could get down to the welders quickly.

As she approached the door, she heard a muffled argument:

_“I don’t want to put on the bloody mask, alright?”_

_“Martin-”_

_“No-”_

This was the fucking most serious phase of this entire robbery and everybody suddenly had couple issues. Tokyo prepared to interrupt this fight, then immediately flee the room and inform the welders in the basement. Every second was precious.

Tokyo shoved open the door. The air froze in the room.

“Hey guys-” she began, fully intent on delivering the Professor’s message about the change of plans, until her eyes met Palermo’s.

_Holy Mary mother of God_.

His eyes were alight with a sea of red. Crimson red that pooled in his eyes, unnaturally bright with what shouldn’t be seen. 

The irises were what truly shook her. Their once-intense blue now varying degrees of pearl-iridescent ice on one side and a burning azure blue on the other. She felt her throat dry up and she blinked once before shaking her head lightly and tearing her gaze away. 

The sound of Palermo’s taunting scoff filled the heavy silence that was felt rather than heard.

“What? Don’t like what you _see_ , Tokyo?” His voice was teasing, light, almost mocking. Everything it shouldn’t’ve been, considering what had happened.

“I-um-It’s… fine.” she steadied herself, "Nairobi, Helsinki, Berlin? Plan Geneva is underway, Professor’s orders.”

Berlin took a step back from Palermo, exhaling slowly, “Plan Geneva, of course. Helsinki, you and Tokyo will set up the assault. I will join you in a minute. The missiles are in the library. Get them, before the hostages are there. Remember, only for any armoured vehicle or forces coming in.” Turning his head to Naiorbi, he extended, “You’ll be overseeing the hostages while Stockholm and Denver prepare the windows. Rio will be there too. Tokyo, is Bogota informed? They should make everything ready for initiating Plan Minsk. Now go!” 

Tokyo held the door open for Helsinki and Nairobi, who looked exactly as startled as Tokyo felt.

***

**STOCKHOLM**

“Denver. That’s enough!” Stockholm snapped, fed up with Denver’s pleading looks.

“Monica, I can’t let you-” Stockholm cut him off,

“Can’t let me what, Denver? Help you?” She gave him an incredulous look.

“ _Querida,_ please, I don’t want them to hurt you.” She smiled tenderly at Denver.

“Darling, I know. Believe me I know. Do you think I want you there, holding your guns and shouting at the police and Gandia? No. Of course not. But I deal with it-”

“You have a kid!” He enunciated, animating his words with sharp hand gestures. Monica felt her gaze turn cold,

“And you don’t?” She watched him falter,

“I-no-you know that’s not what I mean-”

“Then what do you mean, Denver? That I can’t help because I’m a mother? Because I’m a woman? Fuck you,” she stepped forward, coming forward so that she was a mere 30cm from him, “Dani,” she allowed her voice to soften, “I love you. I met you in a heist, just like this one. The mint. I decided to run away with you. Then, I married you. After all that, I decided to raise a kid with you. Now, I fight with you. Because our son has parents who will protect every member of their family.” Taking his face into her hands, she whispered a quick, “I love you,” before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips,

“I love you too, Monica,” Denver mumbled as she pulled away. She smiled, taking the tape from the table beside her and starting to apply a C4 to the window frame as she’d been taught,

“Come on, _carino_ , let’s fuck shit up… together.” 

***

**TOKYO**

“Bogota!” Tokyo burst out of the elevator, keen on gaining any and all lost time.

“Holy fuck… yea, what do you want?” Bogota looked up from the gold bar he’d just dropped. Tokyo rolled her eyes and clapped her hands together,

“Listen up everyone!” She didn’t wait for the welders before she continued. She knew she already had their attention, “Plan Geneva is in action! It won’t affect you, but you’ll need to work double time!” She allowed it a moment to sink in, “You will hear screams and you will hear explosions. Listen to me _very_ carefully: _no matter what you hear, you work. Someone screams, you melt another bar, something blows up, you pack more grains_.” Spinning around to ensure that everyone’s eyes were on her, she straightened her posture. “Bogota.” she commanded, addressing him clearly, “How much have you melted as of now?”

“78 tonnes” was the proud response, “We are working 38% faster than anticipated.” Good. That was good. But not good enough.

“I want you working at 60% faster than anticipated. We have an attack coming in soon, and we need the gold ready for Plan Minsk. We’re getting out as soon as it’s all over.” She shook her hands out, knowing her eyes were bright, knowing her expression was wild, “Well? What are you all waiting for? _Vamonos! Rapido!_ Let’s go!”

The room buzzed with energy as the welders resumed their work.

" _This_ ," Tokyo thought, " _Is going to be awesome_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mwahaha plan geneva is a-go  
> also y'all r being super nice and im using this space as one giant thank you  
> so thank you 💖💖🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘
> 
> and Schattenecho, you're amazing, this story would not be the same without you. i seriously can't get over how great the fic is becoming
> 
> Kudos and comments are loved and cherished, seeing the little number on my inbox go from 0 to 1 is literally the best feeling ever 😼😂✨💕


	24. Fire on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what guys?  
> i'm pretty sure we have a legitimately trigger-free chapter... maybe some light angst somewhere half way through, but other than that just fluff  
> enjoy :)

**BERLIN**

_Fucking Tokyo_ , Andrés swore in his mind. His eyes darted down to Martín. He looked a little despairing, as though Tokyo’s opinion held any meaning to him. He interlaced his fingers with Martín's, giving his hand a light but grounding squeeze.

Andrés was still here, and he was still right by Martín.

“I have to go, but I promise, I will be back to you immediately when it’s all over.”

Andrés made attempt to also leave, but Martín tightened his grip: 

“What about me?” his brows were furrowed, gaze fiery as he glared at them all, daring them to comment on his newfound _weakness_.

“It’s best that you rest-”

“No. Fuck that. First off, it’s best if I don’t get shot in the eye, and second, I’ve been _resting_ for the past hour... or for however long you knocked me out.” Martín took a second to blink, shaking his head a little as though clearing a fog, “I’m hyped up on drugs and I’m feeling fine. Don’t just keep me here.” His right eye was burning with the usual intensity Andrés loved so much.

“ _Carino_ , I know you want to help, but what would you even do?” Andrés kept his voice as gentle as possible, making it clear to Martín that he was _not_ on the attack. That he was only asking a genuine question. He watched as Martín faltered for a moment, before perking up again almost instantly.

“I’ll help with the hostages!” He tilted his head a little, giving them all a small smirk, “Birds are best controlled with a scarecrow... And I certainly look scary, don’t I?” Andrés began to disagree. What if Gandia broke out again? What if he and Helsinki couldn’t hold off the police? Yeah, they told the hostages that the library was safe, but did he believe that enough to risk _everything_?

“You know that Nairobi can’t control all of them alone. She needs help.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Martín grumbled, shifting on the makeshift bed.

“I won’t risk you.” No way was Andrés going to let Martín back out. No way he’d lose him again.

“No, I'm going to risk myself.” Martín took a moment, letting out a puff of breath before continuing, “Listen, Andrés, _mi querido,_ just let me do this. I can’t just sit here and wait for you to maybe come back to me. I waited months to come back to you.” Martín paused, considering his next words, “And if you won’t allow me to fight by your side... then let me at least have your back.”

In the background, Andrés heard Nairobi and Helsinki leaving. Good on them.

At least _they_ could tell the difference between a private and public conversation.

He heaved a sigh before making his way over to Martín's side again. He plopped himself down on the edge of the makeshift bed they’d created out of Tokyo's cart: 

“Just promise me, that you won’t try to fight... Not to protect the hostages,” He stopped for a moment, remembering Martín's more recent Mint sacrifice, “Not even for the team." Andrés met Martín's eyes, giving him a soft smile, "God, not even to protect Nairobi. I can manage the amount of tears I would have to cry over her grave. But there isn’t enough water in the ocean to mourn your’s.” 

They spent a moment sitting in silence, hands threaded over each other's, eyes meeting, tension melting away as though it were a popsicle on a hot summer's day.

“So…” Martín began, before trailing off a little. He pulled his hand away, recoiling his fingers as though they’d been burnt. “I-uh… I look different, don’t I?” He managed a weak smile, before dropping his gaze to scrutinize an invisible mark on the back of his hand. 

Was he… _insecure_?

“Martín-” Andrés began, shuffling forward on the bed until his shoulder was just about brushing Martín’s chest, “What I said before still stands. I still love you, I’m still here for you, and I’m still by your side 

He moved his shoulder again, drawing it out across Martin's chest from where he lay. Keeping their eyes locked, Andrés leaned forward slowly -slightly- only enough to bring them close. He stopped when they were nose-to-nose.

"Martín," He breathed, bringing a hand up to cup Martín's rough cheek. Red blossomed under his fingers, colouring his engineer's face beautifully as blood rushed under his touch.

Only he could do that to Martín.

He tilted his head so their foreheads were pressed against each other, watching as Martín's eyes slowly traveled upwards to meet his. 

Andrés felt his own eyes drop down for a second, to Martin's lips, parted slightly as Martin drew in half-breaths. Moving his eyes back upwards, he was delighted to find his pupils blown wide with adoration, devotion, _love_. He could only hope that his eyes were also showing the true depth of his feelings. After all, the way he loved Martin should have been a danger to them all. Andrés loved Martin more than anything -anyone- he'd ever loved before. 

Thinking back to when he thought that Martin had _died_ , well, he had been distraught. Simply and completely destroyed, thinking that he'd never see the love of his life again, that he’d never see _Martín_ again.

Andrés began to lean down, but only managed to brush Martín's lips before Martín pulled away. Andrés raised his head, tilting it in a silent question. He tried to meet Martín's eyes again, but the other kept dropping them.

"I-you don't want me, Andrés…" Martín whispered, shifting away from him slightly, "I'm not like you… Not anymore…" Panic was rising inside Andrés. What had he done? Did he say something? Did Martín not love him anymore? 

The last one was the one that frightened him the most. It thrummed deep within him, beating against his heart and pushing the breath out of his lungs. It squeezed his insides, freezing whatever warmth he had been feeling before.

"Martín? What do you m-"

"I-I'm _broken_ , Andrés. Wrecked. Completely and totally." Martín's voice was small, wavering as he slowly pushed out every word, as though it were physically hurting him to turn Andres down.

Ah.

Martín still loved him. He thought Andrés didn't love him back.

How ridiculous.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the fact that Martín still loved him and was denying him out of insecurity slowly wash over him.

Gently, as to not startle Martin, he moved his hand off of Martin's cheek and brought it to his chin, using his fingers to tenderly turn his face back to him.

"Martín," Andrés kept his voice soft, "I am right here for you. Because I love you. Because I always have and I always will." He met Martín's eyes, feeling an intensity in his own gaze like never before.

Martín's eyes widened Andrés knew that he'd seen it.

Martín had finally found the spark in his eyes that Andrés had always loved in Martín's. That was all it took for Martín to be rocketing upwards and Andrés diving down to meet him halfway in a fiery clash of their lips.

It was strong, heated, almost violent.

Fire on fire, each burning with the same fuel, each fighting for the same side, each hungry to prove the other wrong.

Andres looped a single arm around Martín's waist, drawing him impossibly closer, while he kept the other fastened around his face. Martín, for his part, took fistfuls of Andres' jumpsuit in one hand, tugging him closer whenever deemed necessary, and kept the other tangled in Andres' hair.

They pulled apart, only barely, taking gasps of breath as they slowly disentangled themselves.

Once they were off each other, Andrés stood up running a hand through his hair and surveying Martín's disheveled hair with a hint of smugness.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Martín grumbled, his ears turning a little pink. Andrés only chuckled, helping him out of the bed and steadying him on his two feet.

“You good to walk?” Stepping away from Martín, Andrés observed as his soulmate’s uneven steps slowly gained confidence, until he was walking with his usual swagger.

“Yep” Martín grinned, popping the ‘p’ as he circled back to Andrés. Before he had time to register anything else, Martín was on him, kissing him forcefully. Andrés reacted in no time, tilting his head sideways to allow himself better flexibility.

Pulling Martín up by the lapel of his suit, he felt Martín smirk against his lips.

He wanted nothing more than to live in the moment forever. To forget the plan, forget the team, forget the gold. He had everything he needed, everything he would ever need, clinging to his neck.

“Andrés-” Martín let go of Andrés, immediately dropping down a few centimetres, “We need to get ready… You need to go out and take charge before Tokyo stages another coup,” Andrés sighed, pushing his fingers through Martín's hair one last time, enjoying how it all stuck up at different ends.

“You’re right, _querido_.” Andrés stepped away, eyeing Martín, “You still need to get changed, we can’t have you throwing off everyone in your suit,” he looked him up and down, “No matter how good you look in it,” With one more cheeky wink, Andrés turned around, searching the office for where they’d stored the spares. Finding them, he tossed one over to Martin. He looked around for a pair of boots and eventually found some, laying near a convenient cane.

Thank god for Helsinki, Andres found himself thinking, carrying the boots and the cane over to Martin, placing them at the foot of the bed. He planted a kiss on Martin’s cheek as a goodbye and left, making his way down to Helsinki to begin preparing for the front attack.

They’d wasted enough time.

It was time to make the bastards pay.

It was time to light their world on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing this chapter: haha, gays go kiss-kiss
> 
> aight so we have a little fluff before shit starts going down... you're welcome 😉  
> and thank you to Schattenecho for putting up with me, you're truly the best and i love you 🥰💕🥺✨
> 
> as always, i'd love comments or kudos, i always try to reply to every one because they truly mean the world 💖🥰✨ thank you guys for reading the fic, and i hope you enjoyed the chapter 💖💖💖💖


	25. Hero Complex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for swearing, implied explicit content, panic attack, PTSD
> 
> take care of yourself guys.

**HELSINKI**

“Where the fuck is Berlín!?” Helsinki had only just come down the staircase into the lobby and Tokyo was already yelling at him.

“He will be here in a second. He and Palermo are just… sorting things out.”

“Don’t tell me that they’re fucking.” Tokyo huffed an exasperated laugh, “I swear I will rip their guts out!” She tried to push him out of the way, but he grabbed her wrist:

“He will be here in a second. Nairobi watches the hostages. Are you two ready?”

“Yeah,” Rio replied on Tokyo's behalf, “The machine-gun is loaded, the sand-sacks stacked. The missiles are prepared. We’re only waiting for Denver and Stockholm.”

“We’re here!” Stockholm and Denver came running down the stairs, holding hands and smiling at each other as though they'd been freshly married. 

“Are the explosives placed?”, Tokyo demanded to know.

“Yep.” Denver confirmed: “Whatever’s going to happen, they won’t catch us from behind.”

“So, only _one_ missing.” She angrily looked at Helsinki, like is was his fault that Berlín wasn’t there yet. He was about giving another calming answer, but was interrupted by a very familiar, distinctly amused voice from the top of the staircase:

“Tokyo, haven't you heard of the expression fashionably late? You do realise there's a reason that the most interesting people always show up late to the party, right?”

Berlín, of course. Who else would make such an entrance in a crisis like this? Maybe Palermo.

He walked down the stairs, like he was entering a high-class dinner-party, despite the bullet-proof vest, the heavy army boots and the G36 rifle over his shoulder. He emitted his typical aura of cold-bloodedness and security. An aura that was always multiplied when Palermo was around. He wasn’t, but still it was much stronger than usual. Maybe it had something to do with the strange connection Nairobi had mentioned seeing between them during the surgery. 

“I assume, everything is ready?”

“Yes.” Tokyo snapped: “And I _assume_ , that your boyfriend is also… satisfied.”

Instead of an answer, Berlín just grinned and adjusted his rifle:

“This is serious. Plan Geneva is in action. You all know what this means. This is our last combat. And I’m afraid it’s gonna be the most difficult we ever had. They will throw everything they've got at us." Berlin paused, his gaze sweeping past them all, "But don’t be afraid. They tried it in the past and they failed spectacularly. I, for my part, won’t give them this final win.” He looked around and Helsinki felt the familiar feeling of comradeship. Whatever their former expression had been, now all faces showed the same glance of commitment, of strength and absolute loyalty.

Berlín smiled and unlocked his rifle: “Now! Positions! Let’s give them hell!”

***

**PALERMO**

Martín made his way down the corridor, feeling the jumpsuit crinkle with every step.

His footsteps echoed and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, stretching out his arms and flexing his fingers, twirling the ornate cane Andres had given him in his hand. 

He knew he looked terrifying, he’d seen himself in the mirror closely enough to know that his left eye was eerily glazed over, with the rest of his eye brimming with red. Cuts run across both his cheeks some stretching over his nose and one splitting his left eyebrow.

 _I look like a comic-book-villain. I only need a white Persian cat to perfect the picture_ , Martín thought with a slight, if not forced smirk. It would certainly be fun to mess with the hostages a little.

He straightened his jumpsuit and slightly brushed over the hard quader in his pocket. He had always been good with explosives, even back at his time in University he crafted complicated little blasting compositions and once nearly killed himself, when he miscalculated the sensitivity of the detonator. But he always liked it anyways. 

But the thing in his pocket wasn’t one of his experiments. It was a M18 Claymore Anti-Personnel Mine, remote-controlled, with enough potential power to blow up an entire room. 

He had picked it up, while changing clothes, just… Just in case…

Martín groaned quietly as he approached the door, he could already hear the quiet whimpering of the hostages - definitely not something he had missed. The sound made him recall the last heist. 

Hanging Arturo from the ceiling and throwing a party of sorts had been fun, refreshing in its absurdity.

“Sit down and stay quiet!” Nairobi’s voice rang out from behind the closed door. It was thunderous, dark with warning but somehow touched with a warm passion. As though she were daring the hostages to disobey.

“There’s only one of you!”, an obviously arrogant voice shouted: “Don’t listen to this _puta gitana_ . It’s more than common knowledge that people of _her kind_ are always lying.” 

Fucking Gandia. Martín couldn’t believe the fucker was still alive, he had half-expected, half-hoped, that Andres had already killed him.

Andres was right. 

Gandia really did have a hero complex.

Martín could understand, he supposed people as worthless as Gandia got some sort of high from the validation of their masters. It was frustrating though. As you see, the hero complex is not one without faults. You put yourself in danger for seemingly no reason, you see yourself as the only one who _truly_ understands, the only one who can do anything about something.

If Gandia was going to play hero, Martín was going to have to play villain. And he would definitely enjoy it.

Forcefully, he pushed the door open with the butt of his cane. A loud bang sounded as the doors flew open, quickly drowned out by the sounds of Martin’s own footsteps and the sudden shocked silence of the hostages.

“Palermo. Glad you could finally join us,” Nairobi’s voice was cool, the tone a bit questioning. Martín met her eyes, seeing the small quirk of her brows and the glow of sincerity lighting her hickory brown irises. He sucked in a breath, holding it for a moment before breaking out into a sly grin,

“Me too, Nairobi,” Turning around, his gaze floated over the now-trembling hostages, a manic grin on his face. Anything too far away was a blur, but he could make out 5 shapes in the background, set apart from the group.

He made a show of walking past the two rows of hostages, eyeing them each individually.

“A little birdie told me,” the sharp click of his boots met with the duller thud of his cane, “That some of you were _playing heroes_. And saying some very naughty things about my dear friend Nairobi here. You know, you really angered father.” He stopped next to a shivering man, beside himself with terror.

_He seems like he could do with a little… fun_

He turned to face the man, keeping one hand sticking out on his cane while he put the other on his hip, keeping the same taunting glare as always.

“Am I making you _uncomfortable?_ ” he asked with his grin widened even more, “Is the very _sight_ of me making you shake and struggle for breath? Hmm, I know it is.” Martín laughed silently as the man’s hands started to shake, as though he truly thought that it was the end. 

Shaking his head to himself, Martín walked all the way down the row, keeping his shoulders pressed back and his head held high, daring anyone to keep their gaze for more than a few seconds. Finally, he reached where he wanted to be.

Gandia.

He was hogtied, leaning with his back against the wall, the glance stubbornly focused on his face.

Stopping in front of him, Martín leaned down tauntingly, his left hand still balancing precariously on his cane.

“Well, do you know what James Bond taught the world? Every hero has a villain. Trust me when I say I’m not someone you want to be stuck with.” He leaned away from Gandia, turning to all the other hostages, “Understood?” 

Muted nods followed his order, and Martín touched the tip of his tongue to his chipped tooth in a silent mockery. He looked back at Gandia, who glared at him, probably fantasizing about snapping his neck. But, as he was securely tied up, he just spat out a disgusted: _“Sudaca_.”

“Whatever you say, _carino_.” Holding in his giggles at Gandia's expression, Martín abruptly turned on his heel. He smiled at the confused-looking Nairobi and paced back to her. 

“We are going to spend a bit of time in here together, but don’t worry.” Suddenly, something - some _things_ \- interrupted his thought’s stream. They felt a bit foreign, but very familiar. The something weren’t thoughts, but feelings of tension and worry. He shook his head and continued speaking: “W-We” He took a shuddering breath, suddenly finding himself unable to quite finish the sentence. He steadied himself, continuing as though nothing happened, “Are here to protect… you.”

Martín managed a smile, but the feeling refused to disappear. 

*******

**NAIROBI**

Okay, that was a bit weird, even for Palermo’s standards. To the entrance, of course not, that was perfectly in character. No, the pauses. She never saw him struggling with words. 

Palermo reached her with a worried expression:

“Something’s wrong in the lobby. I have to check on Andrés.” At Nairobi’s disbelieving look, he shook his head, “I can _feel_ it Nairobi, I don’t know what, but something’s happened,” with that, he turned, as though a trance had overtaken him.

“Palermo!”, she hissed: “For God’s sake, stay here!”

He didn’t stop, not even turned. 

"Palermo, wait!" Nairobi lunged forward, grabbing Palermo's wrist. Suddenly, he went rigid. A shiver ran through his whole body and a strange glance appeared in Palermo’s face. Nairobi felt the wrist in her hand tremble slightly. She slackened her grip:

"Palermo-"

A blast shook the building. Nairobi went from nervous to completely alarmed in a split-second, the lips pressed together, her hands were tensed and white, an extreme contrast to her normal light-brown skin.

Outside, she could hear windows burst and shards of glass hitting walls and floor. Some of the hostages started to scream, one young man even sobbed silently. The old woman with the rosary closed her eyes and only prayed a bit faster.

By now, Palermo was shaking like a young tree in a hurricane. His lips tried trembling to form inaudible words, until he managed to bring out a thing, that sounded like a sentence: 

"I-I... N-Nairobi, let m-me go. Please, let me go…" 

She looked up at her friend's face. The terror was clear on it. It wasn't like Berlin's, shown with just a little suppressed tremble of the lips, no, Palermo's fear was clear and visible for everyone. His eyes – his one usable eye - was wide, betraying a panic that was in no-way natural, even for a hostage. She could watch him becoming smaller and smaller, like he would try to hide in his own body. 

"Palermo, are you alright?" 

She mentally slapped herself. If what she thought was happening was true, tightening her grip on Palermo’s wrist would only make everything worse. The moment she let his arm go, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, he stumbled back, until his shoulders hit the door frame. His fingers clawed, forceless, into the fabric of his jumpsuit. He stared at Nairobi in pure and absolute horror, like she was a dangerous monster, threatening to kill him at any moment. Then Palermo turned and ran, colliding with the walls of the corridor, nearly falling to the floor. 

She started to go after him, but gunshots were suddenly heard through the building, and there was nobody else with the hostages. She had to stay here, that was the part she was supposed to play in this scenario. Everybody relied on her playing this part. 

" _Puta mierda_!” Nairobi cursed under her breath, “Palermo! Come back!”

But the only thing that came back was the noise of a body clashing forcefully against the wall. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* oH nO... i feel sorry for nairobi at this point 😅😂
> 
> so the next few chapters are going to be a little iffy for some people, i'm trying to add appropriate tags and TW's to every chapter, but if anyone notices something PLEASE tell me in the comments or dm me on twitter or reddit @64_words. i'll happily add whatever trigger warning i missed, because reading should be not only an enjoyable but a safe experience as well.
> 
> ALSO most of this chapter was written by @Schattenecho. everyone go read their stuff, it's seriously mind-blowing and the next few chapters are AMAZING because of their contributions (i mean, that's my opinion, i may be biased tho :P)
> 
> love you all, stay safe and don't forget to wear a mask 💕💕💕😘😘😘


	26. To Speak, To Mumble, To Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's: hallucinations, guns, swearing, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced non-consensual drug use
> 
> i think i got everything, but if i didn't, please tell me in the comments or dm me on reddit or twitter @64_words 
> 
> take care of yourself and enjoy 💖

**TOKYO**

Everything went about as expected, until it suddenly very much didn’t.

The blow back of the bazooka nearly dislocated her shoulder, but she didn’t feel the pain due to the giant amount of adrenaline in her system. She was still a bit paralysed by the blow, but Tokyo was pretty sure that the silence around her was real. Denver had closed the giant steel doors the second the missile hit the armoured vehicle. Now they listened for anything that would break the silence outside.

No screams. No sirens. Nothing but dead silence for felt eternities. 

Tokyo adjusted her rifle on the sand-sacks. Her jaw was clenched, her knuckles hurt from the force of her grip. Was this it? Should it be so easy? Not that she really found it _not_ difficult to fire heavy armour breaking missiles at tanks. But she had expected a bit more from the woman the Professor and Lisbon described basically as a female Doctor Evil. 

Rio next to her exhaled slowly and dared to throw her a glance.

A radio sweepingly awoke to electrical life. Tokyo nearly pulled the trigger out of sheer surprise. Suddenly, they all heard the Professor’s voice in their ears:

“Is everybody alright? The blow disabled the cameras in the lobby. I can’t see you anymore.”

“We’re all here.” Berlin answered: “Why have you chosen this particular moment to scare living hell out of us?”

“The police continue their assault. It’s not over yet.”

“Copy that.”

The Professor disappeared from their communication.

“Okay,” Berlin raised his voice: “You all heard him... Him… What the…No…What is this?...”

What the fuck was that? A marotte? Now? Really? Tokyo looked at Rio. Her own confusion was mirrored in his light hazel eyes. She looked at Berlin, who rubbed over his eyes, like he had dust in them.

Something was really, really wrong.

“Okay! You heard the Professor!”, Tokyo said, taking over command: “Ready to fire!”

***

**BERLIN**

His first thought was: _Is Martín alright?_

He knew that there was some kind of connection between their thoughts and senses. He could feel his pain during the surgery and his anxiety when they talked. And that was the reason he immediately knew that something terrible happened, when the colourful spots appeared in his vision. 

It started in the second the tank caught fire. At first grey, blurry spots, they became more colourful and clearer. They started to dance around, in circles and lines. It looked a bit like a Quadrille. When Sergio called in, the spots started to speak, to mumble and even laugh.

He could only hear his brother distantly, every word had to fight against this veil of noise in his head. 

“Okay. You all heard him,” in this moment one of the spots screamed. Not any scream. A scream a fear and pain. And he knew the voice from which this scream came from. He rubbed his eyes, to refocus again, but the noises didn’t go away. He tried to speak further, but he couldn’t focus on his own thoughts. 

The screams continued, they got louder, clearer and more miserable. The spots changed their shape into a less and less abstract versions of a nightmare, painted in apocalyptic colours.

Two faces where hovering over him. They looked like a perverse mixture between snarling wolfs and cruel laughing, bad shaved men. He didn’t know why, but these men would hurt him, would use him as their punching bag until they would break him into a million pieces. 

Reality came back, when Denver next to him pushed him:

“Berlin! Berlin! The fuck, what are you doing!? The doors are open!”

“What?” He was leaned against the stack of sand-sacks, his weapon on the floor. The world around him appeared in the wrong colours, way too intense. The red of his jumpsuit glowed like lava, Stockholm’s blonde hair looked like fire to him. Every move was to fast and he felt like he had fever. 

“I have… Denver… I have to go.” He got up, a bit shaky, and hurried to the stairs.

“What!?” Denver nearly ran after him, but Stockholm pulled him down again, behind the possibly live-saving covering, “What the fuck!? Berlin! Come back! Where the hell are you going!?”

But Andrés was already on his way to save his love from a danger.

A danger he couldn’t even identify. 

*******

**SUAREZ**

The Bank of Spain was silent. Deadly silent. He knew that outside on the square in front of the building, hell was probably raging, but here in the corridors on the backside everything was silent. The only thing that reached him from the main battlefield were the tensed and nervous voices in the radio. 

But Suarez also knew that this silence was delusive. This part of the mission, he and his five men, each armoured to the teeth, was the far more important one. 

Yes, the guys outside made a lot of noise, but they were playing the same role as a flash-grenade. Nothing more than a distraction, so that he and his team could sneak in through the air-system and hit the robbers with an ambush-attack. 

They had to move slowly, open every door and check every room. 

He gave his second-in-command a sign to open the nearest door, while he and another one of his man stood on watch, the rifles ready to shoot. Directly in front of them, the corridor made a turn to the left. The perfect place for a surprise attack. 

Suarez swallowed, before he decided to eliminate the risk himself.

“Perez, you stay here. I will take position at the corner.”

“ _Si, senor_.” The sharp reply was near silent but clear nonetheless. Perfect, professional and all Suarez needed to know that his men were ready.

He paced to the corner and took a look. The hallway was empty. Suarez relaxed a bit, allowed himself to inhale slowly and close his eyes for a second. No immediate threat to his men. He signalized Perez, that everything was clear. 

Then he heard the crying. He was at full attention again, directing his rifle directly at the source of the noise. He nearly stumbled back a few steps out of surprise, but managed to hold himself together and take a closer look. 

It was a figure in a red jumpsuit, curled up on the floor. The mask laid unused next to it, a G36-rifle too. 

“Entire team, assemble at my position. I have a possible hostage here.”

Carefully he approached the figure. It was a man, that was the first thing he was sure about. Skinny, not really tall, he couldn’t say much more. The head was hidden in his arms, like he tried to show a contact surface as small as possible. The man trembled, his whole body shook and the policeman could hear muffled sobs. 

Suarez knew this kind of behaviour. One of his first missions was the raid of an ETA-hide-out to free around a dozen of abducted Spanish policemen. He found one of them in a state of feverish hallucination, nearly beaten to death. Was this man a hostage? If so, the robbers obviously didn’t care anymore about the human rights of their prisoners. 

He was disgusted.

Until now, he always had a bit of respect for their enemies. He was a soldier, his job was literal war. He fought and yes, he killed. But he respected the Geneva Convention, because what protected his enemies also protected himself and his comrades. Maybe it was foolish, but it was the one thing nobody could argue with him about. 

“Is that a hostage?” Ramiro, his second-in-command had appeared, the rest of the team by his side.

“I don’t know.”, he looked around to make sure that they were still alone: “I’ll check. Stay alert, I have a bad feeling.”

He secured his rifle and squatted by the figure on the ground.

“ _Senor_? Can you give us your name?”

The man didn’t react in any form. Suarez grabbed him by the wrist and slowly pushed his arm to the side to get a quick look at his face. The sight was… disturbing. Dark red, bloody scratches and cuts on his cheeks, eyebrows, neck and forehead were the normal part. The right eye looked pretty normal, despite the blood colouring it slightly red. But it was horrible, because it created an extreme contrast to the other one. It was still blue, but about two thirds of its iris were pale like ice. The tears running from this eye were bloody. 

But the thing that inflicted the real horror in Suarez was the look of absolute fear, terror and horror in them. What the fuck had Alicia done to this man, that turned him into _this thing_? 

“ _Comandante_? Which one of the hostages is it?” Ramiro sounded curious. 

“It isn’t a hostage.”

“What?”

“That’s one of the robbers.”

“Why would they do that to one of their own team?”

“Because they didn’t do it. We did. It’s Berrote.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chills... literal chills
> 
> credit for this chapter 100% goes to Schattenecho, you're amazing and i seriously have no idea what i'd do without you 💖😊🥺
> 
> again, if i forgot some tags please dm me on reddit or twitter @64_words (i have no idea how to hyperlink, but u get the idea 😅😂)  
> love you all, stay safe 💖💖💖


	27. Nothing Short of Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's: fire, explosions, swearing, ptsd, panic attacks, intense drug-induced-hallucinations, threats of violence, blood
> 
> i think i got everything... as you can tell i have googled MULTIPLE trigger-warning lists. if i missed something, please, tell me in the comments or dm me on twitter @64_words

**SERGIO**

Sergio watched by Raquel as the tank blew up.

He knew it was terrible.

He knew that someone, somewhere, would have their life ruined by it.

He simply couldn’t help the savage satisfaction he felt watching the tank explode.

_ Take that motherfuckers _ , he shouted in his mind, turning his head away from the screen to hide the growing grin on his face. Beside him, Raquel shook her hands out, averting her own eyes, only out of revulsion. Out of the corner of his eye, Sergio saw one officer leap out, engulfed in flames. 

A stab of guilt coursed through him, a feeling akin to swallowing a bucket of ice, before he reminded himself that the same man burning right now would have been the one to turn a  _ tank _ on Andres. On the team.

On his family.

Sergio was brought out of his thoughts by the radio crackling to life. The static shook through the speakers, the waves interrupting themselves as they navigated through the newly-polluted air. Nairobi’s voice filled his and Raquel’s headsets, making his eyes widen in surprise.

Why was Nairobi calling? Wasn’t she with the hostages? Why wasn’t Andres the one making the call?

As the questions raced through his mind, Nairobi’s voice re-emerged

“Professor? Lisbon?” Raquel nudged him slightly, giving Sergio the silent support she knew he needed.

“Yes? Nairobi? Is everything alright?” Beside him, Raquel was tapping her fingers against the table, gaze darting from screen to screen, keen to find the problem.

“It’s Palermo”

_ Fuck _

Fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice, Sergio asked:

“What about him?” A beat. Sergio could hear the screams of the hostages and shouts that -even to him- sounded far off.

“He’s run off. He said he was worried, and he was stuttering. He said he was going to check on Berlin… that he-that he  _ felt _ something…” Nairobi trailed off, and Sergio took the moment to look to Raquel, forever comforted by her presence.

“And?”

“The moment the tank blew up, it was like he went into shock. He stared at me like I was a monster, like I was there to hurt him, and then he just ran. I wanted to go after him but there was nobody left to oversee the hostages.” Sergio took of his glasses, wiping them feverishly as he tried to regain control of his breathing

“Alright. Don’t worry, I’ll find him on the camera, you stay with the hostages.” He heard Raquel click her tongue beside him and he threw her a questioning glance. As an answer, she only nodded to the screen. 

“Should I tell Berlin?” Telling Andres would only result in panic. His brother had done well, considering Martin had not only been shot but also half-blinded. Telling him that Martin had run off -a possible panic attack triggered by the loud noises the tank exploding would have caused- would likely be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“No. It will only distract him and we can’t afford to lose anyone else. The best thing we can do is hold our positions and I’ll try to contact him.” He didn’t want to lie to Andres, but, in actuality, he wasn’t lying... just delaying the revelation of the truth.

The line cut, and the static ceased. Throwing off his headset, Sergio ran a hand through his hair. Beside him, Raquel took shaky breaths:

“Are you alright,  _ querida _ ?” Placing a hand over hers, Sergio looked down at Raquel, giving her a gentle smile. She tilted her head up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, only nodding slightly.

“I just can’t help but think about how terrible this must be for them.”

“The team?”

“No. Palermo and Berlin.” Sergio nodded along to her words, “I mean, what if they were us? How would I react if  _ you _ were taken by the police? How would you react if I ran out of the van in a panic attack?” Raquel looked into his eyes, and Sergio was hit by a burst of love for her.

Raquel, who fought with him. 

Raquel, who had once fought against him.

Raquel, who stood right by him.

Raquel, who loved him.

“I love you,” he whispered. All the tension dropped from her face and her brows unfurrowed. She gave him a surprised but tender smile.

“I love you too, Sergio.” An eternity seemed to pass between them. “Come on, we need to try and contact Palermo. We need to see if we can talk him through the attack.”

“It’s best we don’t involve Berlin.”

“It’ll get messier, but  _ carino _ , if he gets worse we have to.” Sergio heaved a sigh.

“I know.”

*******

**PALERMO**

A thousand echoes of the same screaming voice filled his mind; It was his own voice, raw and sore from the countless hours he had screamed before. He had his hands pressed against his ears, but the screams didn’t stop. 

They got louder and louder, more distressed and hurt. He couldn’t even tell if he was really still screaming or if he'd already bit off his tongue to end his misery. His heart was beating at an irregular and wild rate. It felt like it would jump from his throat, that it would burst from his chest and continue in his own hands.

_ They found you. _

_ You tried to run. _

_ And you failed. _

_ This is your fault. _

A whisper in back of his head. The only voice that cut through the chaos and madness in his mind. A voice as smooth as honey-soaked silk. 

_ You deserve this. _

_ Because you failed them. _

_ Everybody. _

_ Nairobi. Sergio. Andrés. _

The black around him changed into a real place. No. No. Not here. Anywhere but here. Why had he had to wake up? He already escaped this place. He had dreamt this beautiful dream, where he had been back to Andrés. But now he had woken up. And he was back. Back at his cell. Back on the ground. Waiting for  _ him. _

_ You are back. _

_ With me.  _

_ And only with me. _

_ We are gonna have fun. _

The whisper suddenly had a face. Hugo’s face. And Hugo’s voice. Martín tried to crawl away from him, but Hugo towered over him just laughing at his pathetic escape attempts.

“Please. Please. I can’t- Not now. Please.“

Sobs made him stop his desperate pleas. He just curled up even more, his whole body shaking.

_ Oh, you are so cute when you beg. _

_ Trying to hide. _

_ A Coward, exactly like before. _

_ Senor? Can you give us your name? _

The image of Hugo blurred for a moment, the cell got brighter and wider. For a second, Martín could get glimpse of six black figures standing around him, one of them next to him and waving his hand in front of his face. Hugo grabbed his wrist, pushing his protecting arm away from his face. Martín flinched and if possible, shook even heavier. 

_ You still try to hide? _

_ From me? _

_ Haven’t you learnt anything? _

_ Haven’t you learnt, that you can’t hide from me? _

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I swear. Please. I’m sorry.”

_ You are sorry. _

_ I don’t care.  _

Martín was forced to look at his tormenter. A face, smiling, the teeth were those of a wolf and smeared with still dripping, fresh, arterial blood.

_ Maricón. _

Hugo’s mouth widened even more, impossibly wide. The corners of his mouth wandered as far as they could, before the skin of his cheek was torn apart and the bloody crack continued until a terrifying, superficial grin went from ear to ear. 

_ Sudaca. _

His whole mouth was a bleeding wound, an impossible long, pink tongue crept out of the snarled teeth, looking like a snake on the brink of attack. Martín couldn’t look away, he had to watch in horror, as Hugo’s blood splattered all over him, filling his nose with the nauseous smell.

_ Lisiado _

Hugo’s eyes turned yellow and his laughter didn’t sound human anymore. He yanked Martín up right and pressed him against the wall. But the wall wasn’t made of concrete anymore. It were just hundreds of ice-blue, blind, bloody eyes that screamed in pain, louder and louder and louder.

*******

**BERLIN**

Andres ran through the halls, still searching for Martin.

_ Where was he? _

The question rocked him harder than it should’ve.

Laughter sounded from behind him, taunting, mocking, nearly manic. 

Andres wanted nothing more than to strangle whoever was making the noise.

To hold them against the wall and  _ demand _ to know why their laughter scared him so.

He was  _ afraid. _

Afraid like he’d never been before.

He knew Martin was in trouble. He couldn’t explain it, but like his dreams, he just  _ knew _ . He needed to find Martin as soon as possible. To tell him the laughing man -whoever he was- wasn’t really there.

He promised to keep Martin safe, and he would.

Bright colours flashed in his peripheral, and another bolt of fear coursed through him.

_ Where was Martin? _

He furiously pushed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t hear or see Martin anywhere, but he knew he was close. He pushed open the door to yet another room.

The moment he touched the metal handle of the door, screams sounded all around him.

Agonized screams

Taunting laughter

Torn shrieks

All noises he’d heard before.

All chilling.

All Martin.

Except for one. The laughing man Andrés didn’t know stood out from the rest of the wails. One way or the other, Martin’s sounds had all been sounds of desperation, of pain. 

The foreigner’s laughter was nothing short of evil.

Andrés’ mind was suddenly cleared of every disturbing background noise, of every distraction. He knew -he didn’t know why-, but he _knew_ that the voice was talking about Martín. And this unproven knowledge was enough to finish the fight for power in his mind. 

Only one thing ruled: Rage.

“Martín! Martín! I’m here! Whoever you are, if you hurt him, I will rip you to little pieces and burn every single one! Do you hear me!? I will kill you! I will burn you! Here I am! I’m not afraid of you! Come here!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was INTENSE. Things are heating up again! 😱🙊
> 
> Berlin and Palermo's hallucinations were 100% done by Schattenecho, you're amazing, and i am forever thankful for having you write this fic with me 💖
> 
> as always, thank you to everyone still here, it means a lot to have people reading this fic. i recently got twitter as well, i'm on @64_words, feel free to scream at me in my dm's  
> love you all, stay safe, and don't forget to wash your hands 😘🥰💖


	28. A Muttered Plea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for:   
> implied/referenced panic attack  
> referenced drug usage  
> implied/referenced drug-induced hallucinations  
> implied/referenced rape  
> implied/referenced torture  
> guns  
> canon-typical swearing  
> canon-typical violence 
> 
> if i missed anything, please contact me @64_words on Twitter or Reddit, or just drop a comment. i'll happily add whatever i missed   
> stay safe and enjoy 😘💕

**SERGIO**

“Berlin? Berlin? Are you there?” Andres came into view on one of the hallway cameras. 

“Sergio.” His voice was ragged, foreign…  _ distracted _ .

“Andres, listen to me. We think that Martin’s having an LSD induced panic attack. He... ran off when the tank exploded.” Sergio fought to keep the waver out of his voice, desperate to hold up whatever fragment of control he could.

“What?” Andres’ fury was tangible through the radio, the static crackling irregularly as he moved through the halls of the Bank at a half-run, half-stagger. Sergio thought back to the books he’d read, detailing the whole ‘soul-mate bond' thing that had seemingly caused Andres’ dreams. It had detailed accounts of one soul-mate feeling the other’s pain, sensing distress, and yes, the vision-like dreams and trances Andres seemed to exhibit. 

But nothing about hallucinations… But could Martin’s hallucinations somehow project to Andres?

_ Better safe than sorry _

“Andres,” Sergio ensured that his voice was calm, speaking slowly and evenly. If his thoughts were correct, a panicked voice would do nothing but scare Andres, and in-turn, Martin, if it was indeed a two-way affair. “Are you seeing things…” Sergio felt his throat dry up, “O-or hearing things th-that aren’t there? Colourful flashy images? Potentially quite disturbing?” 

A pause.

Ragged breathing as Andres moved in and out of different camera views. Then, after what felt like an eternity filled with anxious pauses, a mumbled:

“ _ Mierda _ .”

He should’ve told Andres earlier

He should’ve made sure Martin was secure

He should’ve...

He should’ve...

_ He should’ve known _

“Andres. Listen to me very carefully. Martin is having hallucinations -vividly disturbing ones- as we speak. What you are seeing, hearing and feeling are only glimpses of his hallucinations.” Raquel gave him an encouraging nod, “You need to find him. I will try to find him with the cameras, but I have no idea where he ran. I’ll contact Nairobi and make sure everything is fine for the others. The police possibly already entered, but we should have a little more time, before things get extremely grim. You need to find him before he can hurt himself or worse.” Sergio watched as Andres came to a staggered stop, and he doubled over as though he were in physical pain. 

Finally, a raspy voice came through, and Sergio refocused on the camera to find Andres facing one directly, grim smile twisted over his features,

“Don’t worry,  _ hermanito, _ those bastards won’t touch Martin again,” With that, Andres cut out, progressing out of sight.

Andres’ words would’ve worried the old Sergio.

The Sergio whose life had never been touched by the blessed hand of love.

The Sergio whose only goal had been to rob The Royal Mint of Spain.

Not this Sergio.

This Sergio knew that the gentle power of love -if properly channeled- could be used as a destructive force, creating an incentive stronger than even the will to preserve life.

Not only did he understand it

He counted on it.

*******   
  


**SUAREZ**

“ _ Puta mierda _ ,” Ramiro whispered from behind him. Suarez was inclined to agree. Taking in Berrote’s profile again, he noted the unfocused half-gaze and the blood-red tears mixing in with the wounds that ran up and down the left side of his face.

“We need to tie him up.” He decided out loud.

“Won’t that trigger more of… whatever this is?” Suarez tore his gaze away from Berrote’s face, still not quite able to comprehend it fully.

“It doesn’t matter. We have to treat him as we would anyone else… and we have to consider the possibility that he’s faking it.”

“Faking it? _Joder,_ **look** at him, _Comandante_!”

“I know, Ramiro. Just do it.” Suarez looked backwards to his second-in-command, silencing him with a glare.

“ _ Si _ .” Ramiro’s voice was back to the auto-pilot cold, laced with the usual hardness of a tactical officer.

They switched positions, Ramiro moving to stand behind Berrote, in position to hold him from behind at Suarez’s command.

Suarez found himself grateful for Ramiro’s heavy build, no doubt perfect for holding Berrote in place once he started struggling - if he could, that was.  Using the tactile rope, he slowly brought Berrote’s arms together. As his skin came into contact with Berrote, the man yelped, immediately pulling away. 

In that instant, Ramiro closed his arms around Berrote, holding him against the wall as he struggled fiercely, pulling and pushing as hard as he could (admittedly not as much as anyone who had been properly cared for, but then again, that _was_ the point of torture), until eventually he subsided to quiet sobs.

His muttered words were what truly chilled him however. Mumbled whispers of:

“Please-no” and “N-not again” as Suarez bound his hands behind his back, still having Ramiro hold him against the wall. They shared a look.

It was clear that Berrote had had things done to him no one should ever endure, ‘terrorists’ be damned, watching Berrote go through whatever delusion he’d just undergone, the same one he was likely still under, it had  _ shaken  _ him.

Giving the rope a half-hearted tug, he nodded to Ramiro, who gently put Berrote down. They watched in silence for a moment as he huddled on the floor, blood-red tears staining the lapel of the jumpsuit he was wearing and shoulders shaking with the force of his stifled sobs and gasps for breath.

Sierra would see justice, but for now, he had a job to do.

Tearing his gaze away, he patted Ramiro’s shoulder,

“Let’s go.” He quickly rubbed at his eyes, pulling himself back into his special-ops mentality. 

Adjusting his mask and cocking his gun, he lead his men out, knowing that -like him- they were each replaying Berrote’s muttered pleas for mercy in their minds.

*******

**LISBON**

Raquel looked away from Sergio as he put down the radio, focusing instead on the many screens sat before her.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a few dark figures moving through the shadows, coming to a stop at the Bank’s rubbish chute. One by one, they disappeared in it. She looked at the time-stamp at the corner and cursed. This footage was a few minutes old, they had already broken in, when the tank rolled it’s destruction. 

They knew it would happen… but they expected a little more time to react.

“Sergio…” She felt his gaze shift to her, and she heard the question before it was asked:

“Wh-”

“Look!” She gestured roughly to the screen she couldn’t look away from, fearing the loss of sight. From what she’d learnt in the Academy, a split-second could make all the difference.

“ _ Puta mierda _ ! We were meant to have more time!” Sergio flicked up his glasses, shaking his hands out, “Alright… we need to warn the others.” As Sergio rushed to connect his radio to Tokyo’s, Raquel busied herself with the camera’s knobs and dials, adjusting every camera in the vicinity to perfectly catch Suarez and his gang when they emerged.

“There’s Suarez, and he’s probably got Ramiro with him. No telling about the others, it’s a team of 6, all armored and fully weaponized.” she informed Sergio, feeling herself slip into Inspectora-mode.

She eyed the screens critically, looking for a new angle in which she could predict Suarez’s way in the bank. Raquel felt her gaze fall to the camera that caught the hallway of the office she knew Palermo had collapsed in front of. Through the grainy screen, she could just about make out a huddled form - Palermo's-, even through the screen, shaking clearly. 

Suarez and his men stood around him, obviously a bit confused by their strange discovery. 

Oh no.

Raquel tried to find a better angle to get more details of the scene.

The one that provided the clearest view showed Ramiro pressing Palermo against a wall as Suarez bound his hands. 

As though he were a threat. 

As though Palermo was able to do anything more than mutter nonsensically and tremble.

“Sergio-” She hated how her voice shook, “Sergio, they’ve got Palermo. We’re too late.”

A wave of helplessness crashed over her as she watched Palermo’s futile struggle, kicking out and shaking from head to toe. It hit her harder than it should’ve, the cold grip of reality only tightening it’s hold as she watched Palermo go limp.

“Raquel.” Sergio’s voice was hoarse, “Raquel, look at me.” She did, meeting his dark brown ones, feeling her heart clench at the slight haze that betrayed his fear, “Listen, Andres will help him. We’ve got to count on it. All we can do is make sure that the others can defend their positions and can help them.” 

Sergio’s voice was heavy with resignation, but it had the burning determination that only someone who had nothing -or too much- to lose could have.

“You’re right… Have you connected to Nairobi yet?” She took his radio from his hands, readjusting the dials so that the static ran clear. 

Giving him a half-smile, Raquel handed him the radio.

It was time for Phase 2 of Plan Geneva:

The Defence.

*******

**NAIROBI**

Nairobi turned back to the hostages, all of whom were still cowering from the blasts.

“Toughen up!” She exclaimed jovially, “Come on! You’re all fine!” Her tone was purposefully light, but she was only half-joking. She’d had enough of the hostage’s trembling-with-fear shit in the last heist, and she wouldn’t forget how they’d all used her kindness against her (if she was being honest, it still stung a little). 

Reaching back for the sandwiches and turning away from the hostages, she allowed her expression to turn worried. She heard the screaming silence from the foyer that followed the massive explosion. She half-feared, half-hoped for the shooting to begin. Better open war than this numb silence. 

She wondered whether Palermo and Berlin running off had anything to do with the “connection” they’d displayed earlier. It did seem like more than coincidence, and anyway, she believed that everything happened for a reason. 

Her radio crackled to life, and she reached to hold it up to her face,

“Nairobi.” The Professor’s voice sounded from the little box, “The police have entered, they’ve got Palermo and they’ll be coming soon. Inform the others to initiate Phase 2 of Plan Geneva. Be wary, they might try and use Palermo against you. Do what you must.” With that, the radio died once again. Looking from the door to the bag of hostage-snacks, Nairobi decided that lunch could wait.

“Manila. Your time to shine.”

The young woman in the middle of the crowd suddenly didn’t look scared at all. She smiled and jumped to her feet: 

“Show time?”

“Oh, yes. You have to stay here and watch these guys here. I have to go.”

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it’s bad.”

“Okay, go. I got this.”

Nairobi nodded at her, before she adjusted her rifle and hurried off. She had other arrangements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaaaack 😼
> 
> suarez is pissed, nairobi's on a mission and andres-  
> ooh well you'll have to see
> 
> Schattenecho, you're marvellous and you're probably sick of me telling you, but i'm gonna anyway 💖💖💖
> 
> Comments brighten *both* of our days, so if u have any thoughts, please do 🙃✨
> 
> ily all, stay safe and don't forget to wash your hands ✨💖😘💕


	29. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for:  
> ~ blood  
> ~ drug-induced hallucinations  
> ~ guns  
> ~ canon-typical violence  
> ~ canon-typical swearing  
> ~ intense guilt (??)  
> ~ pain (??)
> 
> enjoy, stay safe, and don't forget to tell me in the comments if i missed a trigger 💖😘

**BERLIN**

He was a predator. Hungry. Hunting. Yearning for blood. 

God help his prey.

The hallucinations were nearly overruled by his own emotions, banned to a lower level of his perception. He would find Martín, he would eliminate everybody and everything that dared to be standing in his way. And then? Then he would save Martin and fulfill his promise.

“We got him.” Sergio sounded calm and focused in his ear, no longer stuttering and nervous like before. 

He was the Professor now, 

“You are nearly there. Next turn right and you have them. But wait exactly where you are. There is a SWAT-Team at his position. They are six, you are alone. You have to wait for the rest of the team, they’ll be here in a few minutes. You-”

Andrés deactivated his radio, dropping it so it hung loosely by his side. His brother was clever, he developed the second-best plan in the history of crime all on his own. But this time, he was wrong. Andrés couldn’t wait. 

Not now. 

Not here. 

Not with so much at stake - not with _Martin_ at stake. 

The next turn right, he knew he would come into contact with his enemy. But he decided to let them come to him. 

_He_ would choose the battlefield. 

“Hey! I know you’re there! Here I am! Waiting for you! Come on! Don’t make me wait here!”

He heard a sudden silence and grinned,

“Yeah, you heard right! Come and get me!”

***

**DENVER**

“Ready! Aim! Fire!” Tokyo’s voice seemed to vibrate directly in his ear. Denver pressed his shoulder against Monica’s, absorbing the warmth of her skin through the jumpsuit and deciding to trust his team-mates. 

Not only with his life, but also with his future, with the future of his wife, with the future of his family. He knew that this was a point of no return.

He heard Monica whisper, “Together”

With that, he pulled the trigger of his rifle and was suddenly overwhelmed by the incredibly loud noise around him. From beside him, he could hear Tokyo screaming her burning rage directly at the onslaught of police. The bullets hitting the floor and walls, the counters and pillars, crashing into stone and wood, even flying through the open door and hitting the ballistic shields of the attacking police, all these sounds entered his minds and Denver took them all in.

With Monica by his side, he was invincible. 

“Reload!”

Denver threw himself behind the cover, pulled out the magazine of his weapon, took a new one from his belt and pushed it in the rifle. 

He ran so high on adrenaline, that he barely heard the screeching of the ammunition belt and the destroying rage of Helsinki’s machine gun. The Serbian fired blind, directly at the dark silhouettes, which appeared in the cloud of swirled up dust.

Denver looked to Monica, who laid next to him, also her reloaded rifle in hand. The red hood and a few locks hung over her eyes, but he could still see them. There was no fear in them, no worries. They shone like jewels. 

Monica met his gaze and a small smile appeared on her face. She encouragingly squeezed his wrist:

“ _ Querido.” _

“Ready!” The command cut through the noise. “Aim!” Monica nodded at him and both of them returned back to their positions. “Fire!”

***

**BERLIN**

He waited a few moments for the police to realise what was happening. When he heard the gruff thuds of their boots against the tiled floor, he turned and ran. Andres led them through the corridors until he came to the wide staircase that ran alongside the elevator to the Governor’s office. The spiral staircase would provide good cover. 

As good as it would get.

He stopped and spun around, throwing himself behind the first few steps as bullets rained down around him. They ceased, and Andres leapt out, his guns blazing as the SWAT team reloaded behind their shields. Faintly recalling his brother’s advice, he aimed for their feet.

The reaction it caused was somewhat amusing, and Andres would have stopped to appreciate it if he hadn’t been fighting for his life. He watched as the bullets hit the floor, yellow sparks flying and feet tap-dancing under the limited cover the shields provided.

As he began to fire blanks, the police re-emerged from behind their riot-shields, and Andres ducked behind the stairs once again. 

_ Martin _

his mind whispered

_ You promised to save Martin _

Andres’ nerve endings were on fire as he reloaded the gun. Using the gaps between the steps, he fired at the police while they were still out from behind their shields.  This proved to have a satisfying effect.

He heard a dull thud as one fell, and the barracks were immediately back in place. From the gunfire, he faintly heard a:

“ _ Joder!  _ Ramiro!”

If Andres were a better person he would have stopped. He would have at least paused in his actions, if not for a moment, to pay respect.

But Andres was not fighting for himself. 

He was fighting for Martin.

It had always been Martin.

As the tell-tale clicks of blanks rang through the hall, Andres surged forward, pulling the trigger more -and faster- than he’d ever done before. 

Hell, he could’ve been using a revolver and he still would’ve fired more shots than whatever semi-automatic the police were using. Andres allowed himself a moment of victory, relishing the way the SWAT-Team cowered behind their shields and titled it to protect their fallen comrade.

Out of nowhere, a bullet came flying. 

A single bullet, but that was all it took.

Andres felt himself fall back at the impact, stumbling until he steadied himself. Sensing the next few shots, he dropped to the floor, crouching behind the staircase. It was as though the gods themselves had brought upon him a thunderstorm birthed of metal and death. Pain shot through him, and he blearily raised a hand to stem the flow of blood.

All he could do was watch as the police inched closer, the sparks caused by the bullets hitting the marble floor creeping closer and closer with each passing second.

_You failed_ his mind whispered

_ You broke your promise. Martin’s going to die and it’s all because you couldn’t save him _

The pain rocketing through his arm was nothing compared to the agony his mind was putting him in. It -he- was right.

He’d failed.

He’d broken his promise to Martin, and now he was - they were both - going to die.

_ I’m sorry, mi amor. I-I’m sorry. _

This was how he’d always wanted to go. How he’d imagined it as a child.

In a burst of glory. 

This didn’t feel like glory...

It felt like failure.

_ I’m sorry Martin  _

_ I failed you _

_ I’m sorry _

*******

**PALERMO**

The pain was like a flash hitting him directly in the chest. 

His perception blacked-out and for a second he thought that something really had hit and killed him. That Hugo and Pablo had finally overdosed the electric shocks just a bit too much. 

Then, as he pulled in breath after rapid breath, he recognised that he was very much not dead. But that was the only thing he was sure about.

The darkness of his cell swiftly changed to a feverish round dance of rapidly changing, dissonant colours, that half-screamed, half-sang an impossible melody of insanity and madness. 

Hugo’s face suddenly came back into his view; the gaping wound that was his mouth, filled with glowing pus, which spilled out of his ripped open cheeks, ran over his chin and rapidly filled the entire cell with its terrible, choking smell, that burned like acid in his nose. 

And then, the wave came. And like a real wave, Martín could sense it moments before it hit, but when it came it dragged him away like a kite in a hurricane. It was a stream of guilt and shame and fear that washed through his mind, away from his cell, away from the eyes, away from Hugo.

He was thrown from side to side, helplessly caught under the water.

Suddenly a voice echoed through the water from above: 

_ I’m sorry, mi amor. I’m sorry. _

Andrés. Andrés was there, high above him. And this pain, this shame, this guilt, this fear, that all came from him. Andrés needed him. 

He felt himself elevating directly to the bright light of the surface. Cool water flew around his body, seemingly covering all his bruises and wounds, healing them more and more, while the light became brighter and brighter. 

The noises around him changed from the haunting sound of his memories to noises he couldn’t identify properly. Muffled steps and voices, the banging of bullets.

_ I’m sorry Martín  _

_ I failed you  _

_ I’m sorry. _

He opened his eyes and gasped for breath. He felt like a castaway crawling onto a saving shore, the lungs still filled with salt-water. With a still rushing pulse and trying to control his breathing, he looked at his surroundings. 

He sat at the floor of an office, his wrists were tied together behind his back. His rifle was gone, so was his cane, but he couldn’t remember when or where he lost it. But he didn’t care. It wasn’t important now. Only one thing counted now: He had to save Andrés.

He could hear gunshots in a not very far distance. His thoughts seem to work quicker than ever before, clearer than a diamond and cleverer than a chess grandmaster. There was no fear, no anxiety. He was getting high on adrenaline. Or to say it in other terms: He was Martín Berrote at his absolute best. 

It only took him one quick touch to know that the knots of the rope that bound him were too tight to fumble them open. 

He knew what he had to do. 

Martín exhaled slowly, bracing himself for the pain. Then he grabbed his left thumb with his right hand, bit his tongue to suppress every traitorous noise, closed his eyes and without hesitation dislocated his thumb. 

Pain shot up his arm, but he just clenched his teeth a bit tighter and sloughed the rope from his wrists. 

His now useless hand pressed against his chest, he got up and followed the trace of noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha the thumb thing from the show ✊😼
> 
> what a powerful chapter, honestly. one of my favourites so far, i think. the soulmate bond is back and it's bigger than ever, tell me what you thought about it in the comments 💖👇
> 
> Schattenecho, your input in this chapter is clear and it is *wonderful*. For everyone reading the notes, they wrote martin "waking up" from his hallucinations, as well as most of the first two perspectives (y'all would have so much less content without them, go give them all the love 💖👏)
> 
> anyway, thanks for making it so far into the fic, it's been quite the trip (literally 😉)
> 
> stay safe, wash your hands and see you in the next chapter 💖😘


	30. A Game va Banque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's for:  
> guns  
> canon-typical violence  
> swearing  
> reference to torture  
> suicidal thoughts

**RIO** ****

Rio ducked behind Tokyo, fiddling with the strap of his fired expertly above him. 

Now, Rio couldn’t see the war the team was currently waging on their attackers. But the sheer brutality, the unnerving glint of a madness fulfilled in Tokyo’s eyes confirmed his fears.

They were getting desperate.

Through the barrage of gunfire and the aggressive clacks of footsteps echoing from just beyond the door, a distinct crackling noise broke through

_ The Professor _

Right, he had no way of knowing what was happening. The shock caused by Tokyos’s missile would have fucked up some of the intricate wiring the cameras he’d fitted were connected to.

In the split-second between Rio realizing his radio had been contacted and him answering, a single thought passed through his mind:

_ I fucking knew it _

Rio had known that  something would happen, something that caused a visual black-out for the Professor and Lisbon. He’d known that the captivating delicacy of his state-of-the-art cameras would be fucked up by the outright barbarity of the Professor’s back-up plans.

It was why he’d installed buffers, small safeguards between every few meters of wiring. If it had all gone to plan -Rio’s plan that was-, only the foyer cameras wouldn’t be functioning.

He didn’t dwell on it though. Now was not the time, nor the place for an I-told-you-so. Rio picked up his radio, holding it just away from his face.

“Professor! This is Rio!” Only after stating this Rio did realise that this fact would’ve been painfully obvious, “The police are entering! It looks bad!” He knew he was shouting, he knew he sounded desperate, scared. He didn’t care, because it was the truth.

In fact, Rio was  _ terrified _

“Rio.” The Professor’s voice was impossibly calm, he sounded as though he were in the classroom simply discussing another plan, another scenario, “You need to close the door.”

“It’s too late! They’re already inside! O-or some at least. I don’t know, six or seven or eight!,” An absence of noise from somewhere to his left as someone reloaded.

“Rio, listen to me. You are still at Tokyo’s position, right? See the box over to your far right? It’s a control panel for the doors, your speciality. Run from directly behind the team, their fire will cover you. You  _ need _ to lock the doors. Do you understand?” Rio sucked in a breath, steadying his nerves.

“Yes, Professor.”

In his mind, he counted:  _ one, two, three _

It was then, as Tokyo unleashed another volley of bullets, that Rio dove from her side, landing almost directly behind Denver and Stockholm.

Next, he needed to get to the column that began the bending archway of the entrance to the Bank. It would provide the cover he’d need and a little sight to the control panel, an idea as to how it worked, not that it would be hard to figure out.

He shook out his hands, yelling to the pair:

“Cover me!” 

He began to run.

It was risky, Rio could feel bullets hitting the floor where his feet would be, where his feet had been. He hadn’t given Denver and Stockholm a lot of notice, they likely hadn’t even heard him. He hadn’t even looked up at the full battlefield.

But it worked.

He heard the thud rather than felt it as his side collided with the column that provided his shelter. His chest dropped and rose in the tact of his rushing breath, he desperately tried to calm.

From his position, he could make out a dusty set of buttons, a collection of little black numbered ones directly above three large coloured ones. The first was a bright green, obviously open. The second was red, probably close. The third was a peculiar shade of magenta, decorated with the outline of a bell in white paint.

Ah

The alarm.

Bouncing on the tips of his toes, Rio repeated whispered to himself the same phrase over and over:

_ Press the red, press the red, press the red. _

Without intention, Rio’s gaze jumped back to Tokyo. He saw her, a breath-taking vision in the single ray of sunshine that slipped between the doors, face mostly lit by the blasts of her gunfire.

She looked powerful.

Beautiful. 

He was star-struck.

“Rio? Are the doors closed?”, the voice of the Professor brought him back to reality.

Taking a few steps back, Rio took a running start from behind the column, throwing himself to the floor in the last second, effectively allowing the momentum to simply carry him to where he needed to be.

Jumping up, he threw his entire weight against the sizable red button, hearing the low buzz of the doors beginning to move.

Faintly, he could hear the police clamoring to fall back, a heavy volley of bullets closing off their escape until the heavy thud that signified the doors coming together rang out.

The gunfire ceased almost immediately, silence fell. It seemed to be an impossible image. One second ago literal war was raging and now there was nothing. The dust settled slowly. Both sides didn’t want to be the first one to provoke a reaction.

Then one single arm in a black uniform rose behind one of the counters. It held a white handkerchief:

“Don’t shoot! We surrender! Don’t shoot!”

“I want to see all your weapons!”, Tokyo’s voice came from behind the sand-sacks: “Don’t try anything, or we will make fucking sieves out of you!”

Seven heavy assault rifles slid over the floor, followed by some pistols and a few flash and smoke grenades. 

Rio watched as Tokyo leapt out from behind her pile of sandbags, making her way to the police

“Professor?” Rio held his radio in a clenched fist, “We got them.”

*******

**SUAREZ**

“Are you alright? Ramiro, talk to me.” Suarez grabbed the arm of his comrade and dragged him behind the ballistic-shields.

“Yes. Oh, fuck, that hurts.” His Lieutenant gritted his teeth. Suarez could see the blood seeping through the black uniform. 

“Don’t worry. We have him too. Perez hit him in the shoulder.”

“Good. Don’t worry, I survived grimmer things than this scratch. Get the bastard.”

Oh, he would. He had no chance of escaping them, Suarez saw where he was hit. 

He and his men could move quicker and were far better armed. This battle was already decided. 

Suarez was about to give the command for the assault, but was interrupted by steps on the floor. He turned his head to peek between the shields at the staircase. But the steps didn’t come from there. They came from behind them.

He realized it a second too late because the next moment a dark-green box slid over the smooth surface of the floor and stopped directly next to him. The letters in the metallic cover of the box read: M18 Claymore.

_ Joda tu puta madre _

“ _ Senores,  _ could I ask for your full and undivided attention?” A smug voice rang out from behind them, and his men reacted out of reflex, two of them pointing their guns at the new danger, while Suarez rose to his feet.

Berrote still looked like a dead man walking, the ash-pale skin over his sunken cheeks combined with the dried blood around his eyes making him look like a skull. But there was no more shaking, no more crying, no more sobbing. He looked like the confident, smug, dangerously clever bastard he encountered during the first heist. 

How was that possible?

“Thank you very much”, Perez cocked his gun and Suarez watched as Berrote just took a small step back and held up his hand: “Nah-ah-ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. As your leader has already recognized, there is a Claymore Mine laying between us. A mine controlled by this tiny remote here." A taunting grin pulled over Berrote's features. For a moment, everything stilled, then he drew in another breath, the grin dropping as suddenly as it appeared, "So. Put. Down. Your. Guns. Now.” With every word, Berrote mockingly moved the remote from side to side, as though he were a child tormenting his friends.

“It’s okay.” Suarez patted his men on the shoulders, a signal to relax their positions a bit.

“But…” Perez's eyes widened from behind the 

“No.”

Perez shut his mouth and lowered his gun a few centimeters. Suarez inhaled deeply before he took off his helmet and faced this new threat:

“Okay, count me impressed. An incredible performance. And a pretty interesting unleashing trick, you have there. I always thought that the knots were tight.”

“Oh, they are.” Berrote rose his other hand. You didn't need to be a doctor to identify his thumb was dislocated: “But that’s not what we’re worrying about now. We’re talking about you guys,” he gestured loosely in a far too casual way for their situation, “Lowering your guns, throwing them away and putting your hands on your heads.” Suarez scoffed. Perhaps this was indeed the arrogant bastard from the Mint.

“I have a better suggestion: You put down your weapon and then we take our wounded friend and bring him outside.”

Berrote laughed, but it didn’t contain any of the joyful emotions the expression normally held. It sounded bitter and cynic, exactly like his voice, when he next spoke:

“I think you don’t really understand this situation. So, let me explain it to you: You have me and my boyfriend at gunpoint and are, with no doubt, capable of killing us both in a second. I hold the detonator to a bomb lying next to you, which will definitely kill all of you when triggered. This” he gestured at their surroundings: “is a Mexican Stand-Off. I know I have the wrong accent, but you get the spirit.”

Berrote smiled, what looked, considering the state of his eyes, more like a threat than anything else.

“You’re willing to blow us up? I don’t know how close you’ve studied your explosives, but this mine will not only kill us, but the splinters will also hit you. Maybe deadly. Are you willing to risk it all? A game va banque?” Suarez expected a stumble in Berrote's confidence. Some sort of slip-up he could use to his advantage . 

Instead, the sound of a raspy laugh reached his ears. Not what he expected. But Berrote's words were what caught Suarez's attention.

“I'm half-suicidal because of you guys. I’m not afraid to die." Berrote's voice was flat. It was unnatural, how acceptant he seemed to the fact, "You’ve put me through worse. So, if I blow you up it’s your own fault." He fave a theatric sigh, "I would call it `blaming the victim´, but I see no victims here... And yes, I could be bluffing, but are you willing to risk it all? A- game va banque?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a game va banque is a way of saying "all or nothing", it's a reference to the poker-like game Faro (I just googled this, the line was all @Schattenecho's brilliance 🙃✨)
> 
> well it's been a while, and Schattenecho and I would like to thank everyone who's made it this far, taken the time to comment and leave kudos 💖
> 
> stay safe, everyone. see y'all with an update soon 🙃💖🥰✨


	31. Mexican Standoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's:  
> \- guns  
> \- canon-typical violence  
> \- blood  
> \- descriptions of gore  
> \- swearing  
> -

**LISBON**

“Professor? We got them.”

Raquel let so much breath out of her lungs a part of her mind wondered, that all this air had fitted in them. She felt a giant pile of tension and worries dropping from her heart, while she listened to Tokyo’s endlessly relieved voice on the other end of the connection. A quick glance to Sergio showed her exactly the relief and unbelieving joy, that she felt herself. 

She reached out for his hand, which was closed around a red origami-figure and locked their fingers. Sergio tightened the grip almost instantly, but stayed fixated on the radio:

“You got them.”

“Yes.”, Tokyo sounded almost like a little girl, with all the chuckle in her voice: “This is our victory. Now excuse me, I have to kiss Rio everywhere.”

The line broke.

Sergio started to smile, then he grinned, then he chuckled until he burst into a joyful, infectious laughter. Raquel couldn’t remember many occasions she saw him that happy ever before. He just sat there in absolute relief, laughing like a child. 

As much as she liked to see him like this, it was not what she wanted now. She wanted not the boy, she wanted the man. And the last thing she wanted was to wait for it.

Raquel grabbed Sergio’s tie with her free hand and before he could react any further, then to stop laughing, her lips were pressed against his. 

He flinched out of surprise, but Raquel didn’t intend to stop now. She didn’t want more, she wanted everything. And Sergio was a way too clever a boy, to not know it.

***

**NAIROBI**

Why was this fucking building so big? What did the architect have to compensate for? She had taken the exact same corridor Palermo had ran into before, but other than that she had no more clue to find him. She had heard gunshots, guessing that they came from the lobby, but decided against following it. She didn’t know what to expect there and would’ve risked at least getting shot or even worse.

No, Tokyo would manage this on her own.

Completely clueless, Nairobi stopped at the crossing of two corridors. She could continue walking these corridors until she occasionally ran into Palermo or Berlin or both. But that could take minutes she, more importantly, Palermo just didn’t have. No, there had to be a better way.

Her gaze stopped at the tiny, reflecting black eye of the security camera in the corner. 

Oh, yes.

Big Brother is watching you.

It took the Pakistanis only a few seconds to encrypt the call before she could speak:

“Professor? This is Nairobi. I’m no longer in the library. I’m looking for Palermo. Are you even listening? Hello?”

Only the static answered. Nairobi was immediately alerted. What happened to Lisbon and the Professor? Were they deeper in trouble, that ever before? The Professor on the run or the worst of all captured? But before she could imagine even scarier scenarios, the static changed to the bit out of breath voice of the Professor:

“Yeah? Nariobi, is that you?” 

“Professor? Did you run? Is something happening? Am I interrupting something important?”

“N-no everything’s fine. What do you want?”

Oh, she definitely interrupted something, but it hadn’t been running.   
“Sorry for interrupting Lisbon, but this is important. Where is Palermo?”

“Why? Aren’t you in the library anymore?”

“No. I had this... bad feeling and went looking for him. Can you find him?”

She heard the Professor clicking around a bit on his monitors:

“Yes, we have him on-screen right here. But, listen. There is a SWAT-Team at his position. They entered through the air-system a few minutes ago." Nairobi began to interrupt him. How couldn't he have told them yet? Before she could say anything, however, the Professor cut across her, "Not important now. Go get the others, the lobby is cleared. I will lead you to the position. Understood?”

“Every word.” 

***

**BERLIN**

The thunderstorm suddenly ceased.

A voice, then others. It took Andres nothing but a second to identify them

Martin? 

N-no. 

His mind was playing tricks on him, surely. It was the blood loss, it was making him delirious.

_ Oh _ , but that voice.

It was a wonder what the human mind could do.

“This is a Mexican Stand-Off. I know I have the wrong accent, but you get the spirit.”

It was a trick, he knew it was, but Andres couldn’t resist a peek from behind the staircase.

Fuck.

He was right there

_ Martin _ was right there

Suarez's voice came from somewhere to his other side:

“You’re willing to blow us up? I don’t know how close you’ve studied your explosives, but this mine will not only kill us, but the splinters will also hit you. Maybe deadly. Are you willing to risk it all? A game va banque?”

Was he dead? Was this to be it then? His eternal torment, Martin’s voice, moments before his own death? Surely not even hell could be so cruel. Andres closed his eyes for a moment, drew a slow breath. 

No, he was definitely alive. If nothing else, the constant throb of pain in his arm made him certain he was conscious.

Andres shifted on the ground, feeling the pain that had somewhat subsided due to the shock and adrenaline coursing through him ignite again. His shoulder was on fire with agony, the pain momentarily blinding him.

Then, a single voice broke through

Cold, calculated,  _ amused _

Martin’s voice.

Fuck the pain, Andres just had to see this.

Dragging himself to his feet, Andres resorted to leaning heavily on the staircase beside him. The police seemed to be trained on Martin, deeming him a bigger threat.

Because _Martin_ was here

Martin was alive

The voice - _Martin's voice_ \- cut through his thoughts again:

“I'm half-suicidal because of you guys. I’m not afraid to die. You’ve put me through worse. So, if I blow you up it’s your own fault. I would call it `blaming the victim´, but I see no victims here... And yes, I could be bluffing, but are you willing to risk it all? A- game va banque?”

Martin was… holding a detonator.

_ Oh Martin _

Poor, brave, wonderful Martin

At the end of the day, Andres wasn’t stupid. He knew Martin had always had a suicidal streak. Sure, it had dimmed in the last few years, but he knew that if it really came down to it, Martin would press the button.

His eyes were locked with Suarez’s, the cold, icy blue assuring the  _ comandante  _ that there was no trick, no lie.

Martin was ready to send them all to hell.

Andres raised his gun, steadying himself upright, training it on the SWAT-Team. 

If he was going to die, he was going to die fighting by Martin’s side.

The maniacal - and quite frankly terrifying - grin on Martin’s face grew impossibly wider, alight with crazed mirth that was not quite his beloved’s. 

No, this unnatural light was something darker, much more sinister.

This was Palermo.

Merciless, ruthless, cold, cruel.

“Berlin. You’ve come at exactly the right moment.”

For a beat, the harshness in Martin's smirk, the evil light in his eyes dimmed. Replaced instead, by a soft smile and a fondness in his flitting gaze. Barely visible, barely there, barely _seen_ before it was pushed back behind the cold mask that _was_ Palermo.

“You always mess things up when I’m not home.”

Martín chuckled, but then immediately his focus was turned entirely back to Suarez:

“So, where were we?" Martin mockingly placed the hand holding the remote right under his chin, as though he were resting on it, "Oh, yeah, the ‘bluffing’ and your _game va banque_. Anything to say?" A pause, a silence as Martin waited for Suarez to say something, anything. When no sound came, Martin rolled his eyes demonstratively, "Something very bad-ass, I would assume? Or do you prefer something more unnecessary and -let’s be honest- **boring** moralism? In any case, go on, we’re going to be here for a while.”

Andrés couldn’t help himself but grin at Martín’s crazy, misplaced but somehow incredibly fitting confidence. Regardless of the way it was said, the statement simply wasn’t true. He could still feel the blood dripping through his jumpsuit, the life that was slowly leaving his body. Andres' rifle seemed to get heavier with every second. Sure, they would stay here for a while, but he definitely couldn’t stand on his feet for too much longer. 

And guessing by the way Martín let his arm hang limply by his side, his soul-mate knew that the clock was ticking. 

Once upon a time, an eternity ago, Sergio had told him about black holes (some school-project he'd been working on at the time. Bless him). That if you crossed their event horizon, even time would start getting literally stretched to the center of the singularity. 

In this scenario, the detonator in Martín’s hand was the center everything was directed at. If anything was going to happen, it would start there.

And then everything started completely somewhere else. 

It started with the “ping!” of the elevator. Before the police could direct their guns at the new possible threat, the steel-doors parted opening the view directly into the barrel of a HK MG-3 Heavy Machine Gun, fully loaded and ready to fire. Helsinki looked like somebody just tried to kill his cat. 

Very much not amused. 

Andrés’ blood loss wasn’t life-threatening yet, but it was enough to make him a bit slower than normal. So he just stood there staring stupidly at the elevator. He barely had time to fully understand the things he saw, because the next ones hit just seconds after. 

Heavy steps on the stairs

A breath

A beat

And the doors surrounding Andres from above were kicked open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back!!!!
> 
> i think yall know where this is going, and i hope you're enjoying it! i know that @Schattenecho and I definitely had a lot of fun with the mexican-standoff scene 😼😼
> 
> thank u to everyone who's still here, stay safe, ily and dont forget to leave a comment or kudos if u haven't already!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰💞💞💞✨✨✨✨


	32. Thing Of Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's:  
> \- blood  
> \- canon-typical violence  
> \- rope burns  
> \- implied/referenced PTSD  
> \- emotional blunting  
> \- possessive behaviors (?)  
> \- shock  
> \- guns  
> \- bruises

**BERLIN**

The heavy steps on the stairs soon changed to forms, barrelling past him and coming in from just about every angle.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Andres saw _la banda_ appear, one by one, each hyper-focused on their targets. He saw Nairobi approach Suarez. He saw Tokyo and Denver order them to their knees. He saw Stockholm and Rio thread through them, binding each police officer until every single one was held securely.

Andres saw all this, yes, but he didn’t _care_ about it. Simply put, there was one thought in his mind and it was:

_Martin_

On the shuddering breaths he barely drew, the far-away look in his glassy eyes, his barely parted lips, the still-raised arm. Somehow, he'd gone from maniac-suicide-bomber to lost child in half a second. 

He pushed himself upright, not noticing -not caring about- the searing pain that shot through his entire left side, accompanied by the blood thickly oozing through his jumpsuit.

Andres moved forward, not stopping until he felt himself crash against Martin.

Andres' arms came around Martin, holding him as tightly, as closely as they -as Andres- could. He curled his fingers into Martin’s jumpsuit, clinging to whatever solid form lay beneath like a baby koala would to its mother. He looped an arm around Martin’s waist, drawing him closer still. 

Martin stiffened in his hold. His eyes were still unfocused, still glassy. His arm was still raised, and Andres could hear the breath hitching in his throat.

Without thinking twice, Andres dipped his head down, catching Martin’s lips between his own in a desperate open-mouthed kiss. Andres moved a hand -he didn’t know which- to Martin’s hair, curling his fingers and taking a firm hold. He tugged at the strands, twisting them in his fingers, desperately trying to snap Martin out of whatever shock he was in.

Still holding Martin, still tugging at his hair, Andres bit down on Martin’s bottom lip, hard enough to bring the beginnings of a metallic tang into both their mouths. Finally, finally, Martin went limp, dropping his arm, more or less falling against Andrés’ chest and hiding his face in Andres' neck. 

The lapel of Martin’s jumpsuit was stained with blood, the left side of his face covered in watery-reddish streaks. Martin opened his eyes again, tilting his head back to press a small chaste kiss against Andrés’ jaw. 

His eyes were the same azure blue they’d always been, the left one taking on an icy tinge that left it the colour of the Arctic’s ice. They were alight with a feverish burn, a somewhat subdued crazed light burning from behind the irises. 

But he was present. Martin was with him, in the room, not with the wolf-grin bastard that had swam in Andres’ vision, not in a dark cell in the middle of nowhere. Martin was here, in his arms.

“I got you.” He whispered, meeting Martin’s eyes, “You were so brave, but you’re safe now. I got you.” Martin only managed to huff out half a laugh before collapsing into Andres’ hold completely. 

His forehead came to rest against the crook of Andres’ shoulder, fitting snugly against the dip of his neck. Gently, Andres allowed his own head to dip down, resting it against Martin’s and pushing his nose into Martin’s hair, inhaling his scent and allowing himself a moment to simply revel in all of Martin. The comforting weight in his arms, the homely smell of his hair, and the feeling of Martin's steady breath against his neck.

Footsteps came to a stop from somewhere behind him. 

Andres lifted his head, turning it to acknowledge whoever it was that had approached them.

He was met with the sight of Helsinki’s tattooed arm, handing him a blanket. Andres accepted it with a nod, carefully maneuvering his arms to bring the blanket around his beloved’s shoulders, feeling Martin’s head loll slightly and his lashes flutter against his neck.

“Andres, you’re bleeding,” Martin muttered, eyes half-lidded as Andres gently guided him to the stairwell.

“I’m fine, _carino._ All that matters is that you are.” Slowly, Andres guided Martin down, resting him against the railing before sitting down beside him. 

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the gang interact with the police from afar. Nairobi was on the radio with the Professor, Denver, Tokyo and Rio were watching over the now-tied up SWAT-Team, with Stockholm and Helsinki flitting in and out, working in tandem to set away the police’s guns and armor.

***

“On your feet.” Nairobi’s unusually harsh voice sounded from the other side of the corridor. Shuffling sounded, and by the time Andres had raised his eyes, Suarez and his team were already up, being led out of the cramped hallway and likely to the foyer.

“Come on,” He mumbled to Martin, pulling himself up by the railing before turning back to Martin. Andres held out an arm. Martin could take it if he wanted.

Andres knew that Martin’s pride -much like his own- was a delicate thing. He wouldn’t appreciate Andres babying him. 

Only a few moments slower than what could be expected of someone in optimal condition, Martin was back up, walking somewhat stiffly, arms still cradled inside the blanket, but by Andres’ side.

“Onward, _capitán_.” Martin’s voice, teasing and light, brought Andres’ attention. In front of him, Martin stood, offering Andres arm and raising a single eyebrow, with the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Onward,” Andres replied, with a mock-gallant air and matching half-smirk of his own. 

A quiet, shared laugh later, he and Martin were making the steady trek back to the lobby, only a little behind the team.

As they progressed through the Bank, Andres lost himself in watching Martin, walking steadily -if not stiffly- beside him. He lost himself in Martin’s presence, the comforting weight that lay under one of his arms. He lost himself in the steady thump of Martin’s pulse, lost himself in the fact that he’d come _so close_ to losing Martin _forever_.

Never again.

 _Never again_ , he whispered to himself, quiet enough that evaded even Martin’s ears.

_No harm will come to Martin, not so long as I live._

Nodding to himself, Andres sealed this is as yet another promise. A promise he would never break. He would never leave Martin’s side, and he would never allow harm to come to him.

***

**PALERMO**

Martín didn’t want to show it -of course he didn't want to show it-, but he was weaker than he looked. The hallucinations were gone, yes, but the fear was stuck too deep to just disappear. The warmth of the blanket and the warmth of Andrés’ body beside him helped to melt the ice block that was his fear, but he needed more. Martin snuggled against Andres' shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to drift away from all the terrible things in his head. 

In hindsight, it must have been this moment, where the sleeve of his jumpsuit was tugged upwards. 

“Martin,” Andres raised his gaze, slowly, purposefully meeting Martin’s eyes.

“Hm?”

“What did the police _do_ to you? Just before-” Martin’s steps faltered. Nothing more than a brief pause in the swing of his legs, but enough to catch Andrés' attention.

And Martín knew it. 

“N-Nothing. They probably thought I was a hostage." A pause, "I don’t think they even noticed me.” Martin's voice was measured, even. To the untrained ears, his voice was calm. But he knew that Andrés had already noticed the quick movements of his hands as he tried to hide his wrists again. They were bloody from the rope that had tied his hands together, bloodier than they should have been. 

But Andres knew Martin too well for such simple tricks.

For you see, Martin was a thing of passion. A creature of the heart. There was a fiery intensity behind everything he did.

It permeated through his wild gesticulation, or the an unnatural brightness in his features. A quiet break or tremor in his voice, or an upwards tug of his lips.

In short, Martin wore his heart on his sleeve. Everything he said, no, everything he _meant_ , rang with the power of emotion. Even when he lied -and he was good at it- he was more of a very good actor playing himself, re-enacting almost all of the emotions he normally showed. Only a very well trained observer could tell the difference between the two.

But now he wasn’t in the condition anymore to act. 

The forced calmness, the lack of emotions.

Someone as sensitive as Andrés couldn’t do anything but recognize the obvious lie. He stopped immediately, forcing Martín to do the same. 

“ **What** did they do?” he heard Andrés’ voice drop slightly, taking on a fraction of forcefulness, an… insistence, if you will. Martín reflexively tried to hide his head between his shoulders, intimidated by the sudden tone. 

“I- nothing, Andres I’m fi-” 

“Don’t say that you're fine. You are not.”

“It’s- it’s complicated. I-”

“Then kindly explain to me, because I don't understand. What in the flying fuck happened to your wrists?” He grabbed Martín’s hands, exposing the bloody flesh. 

“Please- Andrés, let me go. I- don’t…” 

Fear crept back up his spine, the far too well-known feeling of being caught in a corner with no chance of escape. His face turned into a static mask, his mind desperately trying to hide everything. As soon as Andrés recognised what was happening, he loosened his grip, guilt and worry already creeping back into his still-hard gaze.

“I’m sorry. Martín, I’m sorry, I didn’t want… I just want to know what they did to you. I just want to protect you. Tell. Me. Now.”, his voice hardened with the last words. 

Martin sucked in a breath.

Fuck. 

“Andres, please-” One last attempt at civility, at maintaining Andres’ calm. Silently, Martin prayed for Andres to just let it go. 

Of course, the wild, untamed, -for lack of a better word- feral, part of him wanted to give Andres the loaded G-36 himself and point his beloved in the right direction, but Martin knew better.

Releasing Andres to do what they both wanted him to would only create more chaos. Chaos that would only play them into the hands of their enemies. 

“Martin,” Andres’ voice was nothing more than a low growl again, hissing with the undercurrents of iron-hot fury:

“What the _fuck_ did they do?” 

Martin knew better than to try and keep Andres calm for any longer. Withholding information he would find out anyway would not only be pointless, but it would also anger him further when the time did come.

“They tied me up with some rope,” Martin nervously chewed at his bottom lip, “J-Just my wrists…”

“How tight.” 

It wasn’t a question.

It was a _demand_.

“I don’t-”

“ _How tight_ ” 

Martin sighed and looked down on his wrists. 

“Tight enough to break through whatever... trip I was in. Tight enough to make me think something was biting my wrists. Tight enough to make me think I was back… _there_.” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t draw a savage pleasure from watching Andres’ eyes darken until they were almost black. Martin watched as Andres clenched and unclenched his jaw, before letting out a sound that sounded like something between a hiss and a growl,

“Hands.” 

Far be it from Martin to ever deny Andres anything.

Twisting in Andres’ -unbelievably tight- hold, Martin presented both of his wrists, upturned in all their bloodied glory.

He wouldn’t lie. They definitely looked worse than they felt. The unnatural jagged bruise lines that ran across the join of his right thumb didn’t exactly help his earlier “it’s nothing” plea, either.

The flesh was raw where Martin had twisted and turned in his drug-induced struggle, an angry red akin to the cherry-red of his jumpsuit.

“ _Hijos de la gran putas,”_

Martin had no time to react. All it took was half a second, and Andres was gone from his side, handgun being loaded as he strode forward. Martin heard the unmistakable sound of Andres throwing open the doors.

Well fuck.

Martin began to hurry after his beloved, before he did something that everyone would pay for later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!  
> another chapter, another cliff hanger 😈😂 and of course we have andres over-reacting and martin being the human 🙈🙊🙉 emoji
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed the chapter, don't forget to leave a comment or kudos, they mean the world to us 🥰😘
> 
> love yall, stay safe and dont forget to wash your hands!!! 💖💖💖💖✨✨🥰🥰🥰

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,  
> as promised, the start of an actual fic, though this chapter is only like a paragraph long, it'll get better, promise.
> 
> ily to all the 7 people who read my last work :))))


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